


Sleeping Snakes and Disappearing Demigods

by SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY



Series: Children of the Gods [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley make it to the end, Be warned there is blood, Character deaths that aren't temporary, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Death and Disease, F/M, Fantasies about forced sexual favors, First Kiss, Getting Together, Human gun with some God killing bullets, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), I mean we see a skull explode amounts of blood, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's not consent if they think you're someone else, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Gabriel (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Period typical homophobia and cissexism, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rough Sex, Seduction through deciet, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Suicide, Wait is that a DC storyline? That is definitley DC storyline elements, Wiolence, character death but it's temporary, non-con frottage, non-con kissing, there are many gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY/pseuds/SMITSJUSTAJAYREALLY
Summary: Crowley planned to sleep in until October. That gets interrupted when Heaven approaches Aziraphale for help in finding a kidnapped son of God.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Jesus (Good Omens), Hastur/Michael (Good Omens), Jesus/John The Beloved, Vice (Original Character)/Crowley (Good Omens), Vice (Orignal Character)/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Children of the Gods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099685
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The rape non/con tag is for a later chapter. It’s not done by physical force but if you change your appearance to make the person you’re with think you’re someone else entirely, especially someone they love, then I consider that rape.  
> Also the major character death is temporary and not Aziraphale or Crowley. It’s the other guy mentioned in the title  
> If that sort of angst bothers you, you probably shouldn’t read the story, even if you’re one of my dear friends. I know you all love me, and I know you’d read to support me. But I don’t want to hurt any of you. To those of you on board for this, I hope you enjoy my nonsense.
> 
>  **If my story looks familiar it’s because it probably is. I had a different AO3 account when I started writing. It got deleted for personal reasons and this new one started. All the fics from the old account got moved to here** ❤️💜💙🧡💚💛

**July 19, 12:25PM**

Crowley’s alarm clock begins to buzz. A rather hateful noise really, but the damn thing had been manufactured in Hell. (Third circle, in charge of consumerism and the manufacturing of all items needed for everyday use, but of which the owner daydreams regularly of destroying.)

Crowley breathes in deeply, puffing out his cheeks and releasing the air in a gush. Rubbing his hands down his face, the demon debates on whether to go back to sleep, head directly to the bookshop, or check the current state of the world and then decide.

Choosing the third, he rolls over, sheets tangling around his waist, and retrieves the iPhone from his side table. Crowley holds the button on the side until the device lights up and pushes himself against the headboard. Out of sheer curiosity, the demon’s thumb presses the message icon first.

“Nothing.” He grumbles disheartened. Internally he scolds himself for feeling disappointment.

_What did you expect? He’d miss you?_ Leave thousands of lovelorn messages? His inner demons ask. (Do demon’s have inner demons? Must do, or else Crowley’s wouldn’t be talking.)

“No, but we’re friends.” Crowley argues out loud. “Thought maybe a photo or two of his home baked sweets. A few words asking if I’m awake.”

_No wonder he’s never wanted more than friendship. You’re so goddamn needy._

“You’re right.” The demon sighs dejectedly. He flicks away the message app and touches the icon for world news.

“Shit.” Crowley drops his head back against the headboard. Several restrictions had been lifted, not because the virus had been eradicated, rather for economic reasons. Some places taking more precautions than others, but there has been an incline in death and illness nonetheless.

“Not surprising. Humans have always been prone to self-destruction.” Crowley shakes his head. He’s always had a soft spot for the fools, and it breaks his heart how they hurt themselves over and over. They are reckless and naturally drawn to sin without any prompting. It had made his job much easier than Hell could have ever guessed. Crowley had learned eons ago not to interfere with them at all. Tempt one politician towards a bit of dishonesty, and the next thing you know, they’ve progressed beyond lying to money laundering, sexual harassment or rape. Humans go too far, too fast.

Of course, not every human is depraved, there’s a portion of the society who are decent people. Those people are also being ostracized by the rich, corrupt, or religious fanatics, based on what area of the world in which they dwell.

“I’m setting my alarm for October.” Crowley mumbles. It all makes him long for the comforting presence of his Angel.

“I’ll just give him a quick call. Let him know I’m hitting the snooze.” Crowley decides. It would be the considerate thing to do.

_Why? What makes you think he cares?_

“He cares. Best friends, our side. Even admits to it now.”

_That’s what you think? As I recall, he would rather share cake with criminals than have you over to wait this out. You could hear the loneliness in his voice, yet he still doesn’t want you there._

“He’s trying to keep me on a good path. A human path, for the both of us. I want to be better for him, whether he loves me or not.”

He waits, his inner dialogue seemingly silenced for the time being. Smiling, Crowley taps Aziraphale’s contact. Two rings then a voice that’s always sounded like home.

“Crowley!”

“Angel.” Crowley closes his eyes. Satan, how he’s missed Aziraphale. “You sound chipper.”

“Of course, I do! I’ve missed you!” Aziraphale clears his throat. “I mean rather, I’ve missed your company. My dear, I was unsure what day you planned on waking.”

“Missed me, huh?” Crowley begins to rethink the sleeping in thing.

_He’s always making you wait, you can make him wait. He’d more than likely get sick of you and send you home after a day or two._

“Wanted to check in on you Aziraphale. Let you know I’m going back to sleep until October.”

“October?” The angel sounds wounded. “But, but why?”

“World’s still shit. Don’t feel like dealing with it all.” Crowley lowers his voice, an attempt at sounding playfully seductive. “Course you’re welcome to come sleep with me.”

There’s a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. Crowley winces, the fool he is, he’s overstepped again. “Listen, Angel, sorry. It was a joke...”

“What?” Aziraphale sounds breathless. “I’m sorry dear, I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Aziraphale, you alright?” Crowley throws the blanket aside and slings his legs over the edge of the bed, feet now touching the floor. “I can be there in a matter of seconds if you need me.”

“No, no!” The Angel’s voice two octaves higher than normal and strained. “Too many sweets, I fear. Has my corporal insides in an uproar.”

“If you’re not going to miracle the food out of your body, Angel, then at least have the proper equipment to dispose of it in the human way.” Crowley tuts, thinking back to a time shortly after their first meeting. Aziraphale, having eaten for the first time, gorged himself on fruit. Poor bastard would have discorporated, if Crowley hadn’t clued him in on how to handle the situation.

“I’ve had the proper equipment since Eden.” Aziraphale snaps. “Go back to sleep Crowley, I’ll see you in October.”

Crowley blinks rapidly, more than a little hurt by the harsh turn of the conversation. “Uh, yeah, okay. Night Angel.”

*Click* Crowley stares at the phone trying to process what exactly just happened and what he might have done wrong. Coming up with nothing, he turns the phone off completely and puts it back on the bedside table.

_You’re nothing more than a nuisance._

“Shut up.” The demon croaks. Allowing a few stray tears to escape down sharp cheekbones, Crowley squeezes his eyes shut and drifts back to sleep.

* * *

**August 3, 3:00PM**

Aziraphale stands staring at a black mahogany door. Heart beating rapidly inside his chest, he prays the conversation he intends to have with his demon won’t be their last.

Not that Crowley is his. Nonetheless, Aziraphale is Crowley’s. His heart has belonged to the demon for millennia. From their first conversation on the wall, the angel felt something spark between them. And although angels can’t sense love from occult or other ethereal beings the same as they can from humans, there were moments throughout history where Aziraphale had come to realize Crowley might feel the same way too.

But like everything else in his existence, Aziraphale has mucked it up. A brainwashed coward in the beginning, he had assumed Crowley’s initial attentions were due to the poor creature longing for his own lost grace. That, unwittingly, Crowley must have felt pulled to the first being of God’s love to show him kindness.

Over the centuries, Crowley had proven just how false Aziraphale’s first assumptions had been. Through continuous acts of service and protective kindness, the demon had validated he is capable of loving more purely and steadfastly than any angel of Heaven.

Despite this, Aziraphale continued to keep Crowley at arms-length. Unable to send away the being he loves, but fearful of his destruction at the hands of Heaven or Hell, were they to find out.

No longer brainwashed, just a coward. the angel scolds himself over the wasted years. Because any such worries or hope of unrequited love, ended after Armageddon.

The night before their trials, as they worked out Agnes’ last prophecy, Aziraphale had been certain Crowley would again try to woo him. And the angel, with his new-found freedom, was more than ready to enthusiastically accept the demon’s advances.

Those advances never came.

Aziraphale knows where it all broke. It was the moment he denied Crowley’s request to run away a second time. He had pushed Crowley too far, hurt him too badly too many times. Whatever romantic love he’d felt for Aziraphale, burned away in that moment like grace in a pool of boiling sulfur.

Not that Aziraphale could blame Crowley, the demon had taken 6000 years of abuse from him. The angel just regrets he lost a chance at being loved that deeply and by a being so perfect.

Thank God, they are still friends. Crowley, in all his denied kindness, still cares for Aziraphale in that aspect, and if that’s all the angel gets, he knows deep down it’s more than he deserves.

When they had hung up the phone in May, he had fought the urge to immediately call Crowley back. His demon sounded so despondent when Aziraphale had forbade him from slithering over to ride out lock down in the book shop.

The angel refrained, knowing he couldn’t continue his trend of inconsistency when it came to Crowley’s emotions. It’s Aziraphale’s indecisiveness throughout their relationship, the constant back-and-forth emotional whiplash, that had caused Crowley to stop loving him. Aziraphale is determined to break the habit before it also results in the loss of their friendship.

He did it again with Crowley’s second call in July. Aziraphale had been on the verge of accepting the demon’s previous offer of hunkering down together. That, however, changed when a familiar scent of ozone permeated the air around him, and Aziraphale realized he was suddenly in the presence of an archangel. He regretted so rudely hanging up the phone but felt it better to let Crowley sleep than for him to share in whatever torture was about to befall the principality.

Aziraphale hesitates before knocking, wondering if he should have called ahead. He struggles to swallow, straining the tendons in his neck as he lifts both hands and straightens his bowtie. His corporation overcome with the strange mixture of excitement and dread.

Excitement to see beautiful serpentine eyes once again. Excitement to speak to the only being who has ever treated him as an equal, an individual to be heard and respected. To hear the demon’s voice calling him ‘Angel’ in a way that has made Aziraphale’s body shiver, even before he understood what the reaction meant. To once again exist in a room with the only being he unconditionally loves.

But let us not forget the aforementioned dread. Aziraphale fears that when he informs Crowley from whom he has agreed to take on an assignment, his dear demon may never speak to him again.

* * *

**August 9, 12:09PM**

Crowley, hair in disarray and wearing only black silk pajama bottoms, stumbles out of his bedroom and into the plant room. Turning left he groggily meanders towards the loo.

Much like Aziraphale, Crowley has had an effort of some sort since Eden, and at this moment his current effort needs to pee.

With a cadence that one might best compare to a zombie walking, Crowley shuffles up to his sculpture of “The Battle of Good and Evil” when a presence stops him dead in his tracks. Rather than turning right towards his restroom, he turns left towards his front door and Aziraphale.

Half asleep, Crowley doesn’t think to miracle himself dressed and groomed before yanking the door open with force.

Aziraphale yelps, stumbles backwards and clasps his hands to his chest at the sudden disappearance of the man-made barrier. His blue eyes now wide, scan from Crowley’s tousled hair, down his body and then back up. His gaze pausing a moment too long on the demon’s bare torso before, with obvious effort, locking onto Crowley’s eyes.

_He likes what he sees_ Crowley nearly smiles, but then the thought is replaced by another. _Of course, he does, stupid. You were built to be tempting. Doesn’t mean he loves you._

“Angel.” Crowley growls through the pain his own thoughts have caused him. “What the deuce are you doing lurking outside my door like a damn demon?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale smiles nervously, fretting with the edge of his waistcoat. “Yes, well.” He strains his jaw, stretching his neck and grimacing. “I have something rather important to discuss with you. I had a little time when I first arrived, but now it just can’t wait.”

“When you first arrived?” As much as Crowley adores the angel, he’s had no caffeine, and is suffering from a full bladder. He is not emotionally prepared to deal with nonsense. “How long have you been outside my door?”

“Six days.” Aziraphale says with the same nonchalance of someone whose response might have been ‘five minutes’.

“Six days?!” Crowley’s mouth drops open, irises spreading, hiding his sclera. He’s frozen this way for a steady quarter minute before shaking his head and composing himself. “Would you please explain why you’ve stood out there creeping in my entryway for nearly a week?”

“Yes, that.” Aziraphale smiles all white teeth and shining eyes. Crowley melts a little. “I wanted to avoid disturbing your sleep until I absolutely had to do so. That would’ve been rather rude.” He tilts his head a bit to the side. “May I come in?”

Crowley rubs his hands down his face. “Yeah, come in. Head into the kitchen and wait. I’ll be in shortly to brew coffee and put the kettle on. Got pressing matters to attend to first.”

Aziraphale beams at him brightly and Crowley melts a little more. “Thank you dear.”

Crowley nods, shutting the door behind the angel and they part ways for the moment. Minutes later, his problem finally dealt with, the demon stares at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands. Finished he runs his still damp fingers through wild hair in an attempt to calm it down.

Exiting the restroom Crowley notices Aziraphale waiting where he had left him.

“The last time I was here, I never entered the kitchen.” The angel blushes. “Not sure where it is and felt impolite to wander through your home without permission.”

Crowley tics his head to the left, indicating Aziraphale should follow. It feels so strange to have the angel in his flat again. The last and only other time he was here, the pair were certain they would be dead in a matter of hours.

It was then he realized Aziraphale didn’t and would most likely never love Crowley as Crowley loves Aziraphale. If he did, the demon is certain, the angel would’ve let him know that night. Seeing as they faced destruction and both were finally relieved of their ties to Heaven and Hell.

Instead Aziraphale had been as sweet and companionable as always, but in no way hinted at the level of adoration Crowley feels for him.

Crowley leads him to the kitchen. Aziraphale seats himself on one of many tall stools surrounding an island countertop in the center of the room. Crowley prepares the kettle, placing it on the burner to heat before readying his coffee maker.

“So what is it you needed to discuss?” Crowley scratches his still damp hair. There had been a time he would have worried over his appearance in front of Aziraphale. Not now, if the angel can’t love him and his best, why should it matter if he sees Crowley at his worst?

“Our assistance has been requested.” Aziraphale clears his throat, staring at his hands on the granite counter. The angel’s eyes periodically flicking up to Crowley’s face. “I’ve already accepted the offer, on the condition that you do the same.”

“Been requested by who?” Crowley wishes he could take Aziraphale’s hands in his own, soothe the nervous flutter of fingers. “And to do what exactly?”

“First I think it’s of most importance to bring you up-to-date on current events as they directly correlate with the mission.” The kettle whistles and Aziraphale startles. Crowley’s not seen him this on edge since the night before the body swap. “You already know from before your nap that Pestilence had been flirting with coming out of retirement.”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s affirmation is said with the brevity of a complaint. He pours Aziraphale a cuppa. “Was hoping the humans had found a way to get him under control again.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale references the steaming mug with a smile. The angel raises the cup to his lips but when he places it back on the counter the smile is gone. “It seemed for the briefest of moments they had, but then Vice began their meddling and Pestilence returned twice as strong.”

“Deadly helping a Horseperson?” Crowley’s not been awake an hour and his brain is being forced to process the cataclysmic. “That’s not a good sign.”

“I hate to inform you dear boy, but it’s not just Vice and a Horseperson.” Aziraphale’s grip on his mug so tight, Crowley fears he may shatter the ceramic. He wishes he could hold his Angel. Instead, he pours himself coffee. “It’s Vice and the Original Four.”

“What? Ole Polly didn’t want another round?” Crowley scoffs. He falls asleep for three fucking months and now the world is metaphorically on fire. At least he hopes it’s metaphorically. “So, if I look out my window, will the earth be in flames?”

“Not yet.” Aziraphale slumps forward. “They have been bringing a bit of mayhem everywhere to some extent but seem to have placed a huge focus on the States.”

“Easy to cause trouble with that lot.” Crowley downs the scalding black liquid. One of the benefits of being a demon, you only get burns from holy flame. “United has never been the best description for them.”

“I suppose not.” Aziraphale looks tired. Crowley refreshes the angel’s mug in hopes of seeing him smile again. The action fails, Aziraphale too lost in thought to acknowledge the gesture. “I do remember you being rather fond of at least two of the rascals.”

“Why must you always sound so bitchy when you mention them?” Crowley groans. “Frankie and E. were amazing guys.”

“Oh, I’m sure they were.” The angel’s nostrils flare, his face contorts in disgust. “I’ve heard rumors of what you taught Mr. Presley.

“I taught him how to move on stage. Helped earn him the nickname ‘The Pelvis’. Sorry if that’s too risqué for you Angel.” Crowley shakes his head and curls his lip smugly. “But Frankie, he taught me things.”

It’s true, old Blue Eyes taught Crowley the inner workings of American mafia and ways to maneuver effectively in that world.

“I don’t want to know what he taught you.” Aziraphale looks on the edge of tears and Crowley has no clue why. The angel breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and releasing the breath out in one long sigh before continuing. “This mission actually concerns someone else you were once close with.”

“Who?” Crowley places his mug in the sink then settles onto a stool directly beside his Angel.

Aziraphale opens his eyes, turning them to face the demon to his left. “It’s gotten so bad across the pond that God sent Her son in an attempt handle the situation. He arrived in New York’s Time Square on July 10th.” Aziraphale reaches out to take Crowley’s hand. “Heaven is now under a state of emergency.”

“Heaven?” Crowley croaks suddenly overcome by too many emotions attempting to batter their way to the surface. Crowley rips his hand away from Aziraphale’s as he processes what the angel is saying. “God?”

“Yes, Crowley.” The look of hurt on Aziraphale’s face as Crowley pulls away nearly has the demon apologizing out of a self-taught instinct. That is until it sinks in that the angel has betrayed him again. Promised Crowley he was done with that side. ‘Forever’ he’d said, and now the first opportunity to return...

“Why are you here Angel?” Crowley pushes himself up so quickly his stool topples to the floor. “If you’re back with them, done with me.” Crowley pauses in his speech unable to control the sob that tremors through his body. “Why even bother to tell me? Surprised you didn’t just run back. Disappear. Forgetting the demon who’s been here for you. Protecting you for 6000 years, while Heaven sits on their pompous asses, not giving a shit if you were forced to suffer, get dismembered or die.”

Sure, humans couldn’t actually destroy Aziraphale but had the angel gotten discorporated, Heaven would’ve most likely demoted him again. If that had happened, who knows if Aziraphale would have been returned to earth, given a shitty desk job and no way to come back to Crowley, or, Satan forbid, been forced to Fall.

“Oh, oh, Crowley dearest.” Aziraphale stands as well, reaching out to the demon.

Crowley backs away, shaking his head, fully sobbing and hating himself for it. “Dearest? Since when have I been your dearest, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale stops advancing, his arms falling to his sides. “I’m not leaving you Crowley. I only agreed because they said you and I could work together, as free agents. Not their side, still our side.” The angel watches him, blues eyes pleading. “And because I knew this mission would be more important to you than to me.”

Crowley has backed himself until he is leaning once more against the sink. “Why would any mission of Heaven be important to me?”

“Jesus is missing Crowley.” Aziraphale takes a few tentative steps forward. “God’s son has been kidnapped.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little history on Crowley and Jesus’ friendship and why Aziraphale is uncomfortable around Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps around a lot timeline wise. I hope it works cohesively and is easy to follow. I just hope you all enjoy. Thanks for reading ❤️

**July 10, 1:00PM, Airspace over La Guardia Airport, USA**

Jesus, or Yeshua as he was known when he last stepped foot on earth, fastens his safety belt as the plane makes it's descent. He's not been called that for over a millennia now. It was the name his earthly mother gave him.

Heaven had made certain that events were set into motion to change it. He, all the Hosts of Heaven and one demon of Hell were aware that he would become world famous under the Latin derivative of his name. Jesus and Heaven were informed through Gabriel who was given the message directly from Jesus’ Celestial Mother (he’d always wondered if it had been done to spite the mother who had raised him). Crawly knew because her angel had told her.

Their final night together was also her last night to be known as Crawly. Her name destined to change along with his own, only hers was by choice. Jesus had his forced upon him by fate and history.

She was the only one to stay awake with him in the garden the night before his execution. Crawly hadn't realized how important her presence had been to him that night. Broken creature she was, she never seemed fully aware of how precious her friendship had been to him overall.

Crawly had been the second most important of Yeshua’s two dearest companions and confidants. Of course, you'll never read of her in such a praise-worthy tone. The Bible is an edited account, pasted together by men of a strongly patriarchal and, in more modern times, white washed society. Dictated by a Heaven, who has no use, or compassion for a selfless demon and her good deeds.

You will read bastardized versions of her. Sometimes as Satan himself and sometimes as human women. She was painted as a whore, who washed Yeshua's feet in an act of contrition. The act of contrition is true. A whore? Never.

Tragically, Crawly has always been madly in love with one angel, and although that love hurt her at times, it is unending and unconditional.

You read of her again when she had walked with Yeshua's earthly mother to his tomb. The scripture says an angel stood before the opening and announced his body's absence, so that the women would return to the city and spread word of his resurrection. This is the reason listed on the official report.

The actual reason? Crawly's angel wanted the demon to find comfort in knowing the miracle had worked. His friend was alive, the gift of resurrection fully granted, and he was safe from any more pain and harm.

Smiling, Jesus rewinds his mind to three nights before the tomb, back to the garden in Gethsemane. He was terrified and hurt. He knew he was to die, not because he's omniscient, but because he was told his Mother was influencing the game to make it happen.

What most human's don't know, is God isn't omniscient or omnipresent either. Heaven likes to let the masses believe She is, makes it so much easier to control them. In actuality, She seems more of a mentalist. Understanding cause and effect on a genius level, apparently highly skilled at reading people's tells and expressions. At least he would assume, the only beings who have ever claimed to talk to Her are Gabriel and the Metatron, and Jesus isn't sure they're not full of shit.

Not wanting to spend his last night alone, Yeshua had begged the disciples to stay awake with him as he prayed. Yet one by one they fell asleep.

Except for her. She had set beside him, a beacon of light in the dark.

_"Will you pray with me?" Yeshua asks._

_"I will, but I'm certain She doesn't listen to me anymore." Crawly pushes a long, red lock behind her ear._

_"Will you remember me when I have another name?" He nudges her arm playfully._

_"I heard about that." Her yellow eyes glowing in the moonlight. "Aziraphale mentioned it. Of course, I will."_

_"You told him of our friendship?" Yeshua's fear now clouded by surprise._

_"No, he was just spouting gossip about Heaven, and you're the hottest topic up there at the moment." Crawly is afraid. Loving the angel and trusting him with his friend's life at this point in history is a risky gamble for everyone involved. Even with Yeshua's death hovering on the horizon, Crawly wants to do nothing that might risk his friend losing his Heaven promised resurrection._

_"You should tell him tomorrow, after I'm gone." Yeshua wishes he could miracle away the pain in her eyes. Sadly, his miracles limit him to physical wounds. "Tell him you love him, let him comfort you."_

_"I don't want to think about tomorrow yet." She considers for a moment. "I will most likely confess to him about us, after the crucifixion." They both flinch at the word. "But not the other." Crawly presses her eyes shut. "I'm losing my second most dear friend. I can't risk losing the dearest, and love of my worthless life."_

_"What if your confession doesn't cause you to lose him?" Yeshua lays his hand atop hers. "Maybe you'll gain more of him. What if he loves you back?"_

_"Impossible." She opens her eyes and turns them to focus directly into his. "He's too good for me. He's an angel, the best angel. And I'm.....” Crawly slumps forward and gestures up and down her torso with her free hand. "I'm undeserving."_

_"You deserve so much more than you think." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing. "Yours doesn't fit you either."_

_"What doesn't?" One of Crawly's eyebrows arches skyward._

_"Your name." Yeshua says, with an air of authority, commonly reserved for his sermons. "Mine will be different when we meet again."_

_"If." Crawly corrects. "If we meet again. There are no guarantees they'll ever let you return." A look of pure desperation on her pale face. "We can run away from this. It doesn't need to happen."_

_"Would you truly leave Aziraphale behind?" Yeshua knows the answer before he asks. "Could you give him up for me?"_

_Crawly drops her head in shame. "No, no I couldn't."_

_"And I wouldn't want you to." Yeshua stretches his legs across the grass. "As I was saying, when we meet again, my name will be different. Maybe yours should be too."_

_"Yeah." She smirks and lies back on the soft greenery._

_He follows her lead, hands cupping behind his head. "Because Crawly is a bit too squirming at your feetish and I see you as someone who soars."_

Their time soon ended. When Judas arrived with the Roman soldiers, Yeshua had forced Crawly immobile, to keep her from fighting, as he knew she would. The look of absolute betrayal on her face is his last memory of her as they drug him away.

It would be millennia later, at the failed Armageddon, that Jesus would hear of the demon again.

_Crowley, the name fit him_. Jesus remembers his black wings, quick wit, and soaring spirit. _Yes, the name definitely fits him._

* * *

**July 19, 12:28PM**

"October?" Aziraphale realizes he sounds as wounded as he feels. "But, but why?"

"World's still shit...." Aziraphale is momentarily blinded by a flash of lightning, and Crowley’s voice fades into background noise. The sickening smell of ozone and lilacs filling the air.

_Gabriel._

"What?" Azirpahle tries to focus again on Crowley speaking. He needs to answer, make the demon think nothing is wrong. If Crowley knows of Aziraphale's current predicament, he'll rush in, demonic powers blazing, and most likely get himself killed. Aziraphale can't let that happen.

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't hear what you said." The angel tries to sound as calm and sweet as possible.

It doesn't work.

"Aziraphale, you alright?" The demon’s tone is alarmed, shuffling can be heard on the other end of the line. "I can be there in a matter of seconds if you need me."

"No, no!" Aziraphale panics, he needs to get Crowley off the phone. The sound of designer shoes echo against the hard wood floor, growing ever closer to Aziraphale's position in the backroom. "Too many sweets, I fear. Has my corporal insides in an uproar."

"Hello sunshine." Gabriel pauses at the edge of the room, leaning himself against the corner of a bookshelf. His smile leaves the principality feeling off kilter. It reminds Aziraphale of a cat watching a mouse. He doesn't much like that look.

"If you're not going to miracle the food out of your body, Angel, then at least have the proper equipment to dispose of it the human way." Crowley tuts. Aziraphale knows the sweet creature thinks he is helping, making the angel dread even more the bitchy way he plans to end the conversation. _It's better to hurt his feelings than risk getting him killed._

"I've had the proper equipment since Eden." Aziraphale snaps, convincingly, but his heart's not in it. "Go back to sleep Crowley, I'll see you in October."

He slams the phone on the receiver before Crowley has time to say anything more. Standing at his full height, he turns to Gabriel with the coldest stare he can muster. "What do you want?"

"What equipment were you discussing with the demon?" There’s a flicker of anger in Gabriel's predatory gaze. Aziraphale has always been terrified of his superior. This moment is no different.

"That's none of your business." He hates the way his voice breaks. "And it would be in your best interest to leave him out of whatever business brings you here."

"Oh, I plan to." Gabriel steps further into the room, tipping his head in the direction of the sofa. "May I?"

"You may leave." The Principality states, with more bravado than he feels.

"Heaven has a job for you, Aziraphale." The Archangel claims the sofa anyway, spreading himself out as if he owns the spot. His harsh violet eyes and dark hair a stark contrast to the beautiful fire red and gold that typically occupy the space.

"Please relay to whomever is offering, I politely decline." _You don't belong there. Not where I get to watch him sleep when he drifts off on late nights. Not in the space where he's let me see him unguarded. Where he lets me see him smile._ "Now, remove yourself from my furniture and be on your way."

"You were personally requested." Gabriel sneers in disgust. "As was the demon Crowley. However, the High Council has approved your involvement only." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Can't have a filthy creature of Hell mingling with the Hosts of Heaven. Such an act would be an abomination to God."

Aziraphale's jaw twitches. _How dare he._ "Then, I suppose it's a good thing I don't consider myself one of you anymore, and Crowley is no longer a denizen of Hell. We're our own side."

"And what sort of depravity does your side entail?" Gabriel makes a show of sniffing his hand, which seconds before had been resting on the arm of the sofa. "Your furniture reeks of him." The fury in his eyes is fearsome. Aziraphale fights the urge to cower. “You reek of him."

"The depth of mine and Crowley's relationship is no business of yours." Aziraphale moves to the edge of the room and stands beside the bookshelf Gabriel had been leaning against earlier. He points to the public area of his shop, and the front door. "Now, let me reiterate one last time, I am refusing your offer. Leave.”

"I could've given you everything." Gabriel stands, walking slowly, he approaches Aziraphale. The Archangel steps into the principalities personal space, forcing the blond’s back against the shelves. "Given you so much more than you could dream possible."

Adrenaline burns through Aziraphale's veins. "You offered to change me into someone I'm not. Someone you thought I should be, and when I refused your condescending advances, you had me sent to earth to guard the Eastern Gate."

With surprising strength and determination, Aziraphale shoves past him and stalks to the front door, whipping it open with flourish. "And every time afterwards that I'd deny you, you'd try to take more and more away." Aziraphale tics off the list on his fingers, his face flushed with centuries of pent-up rage and fear. "My miracle quota, my protection from Heaven against torture and discorporation. My dignity and reputation amongst the other angels!"

"It was necessary to show, in contrast, how much better your existence would be if you'd only accept the fact that you’re mine." Surprisingly, Gabriel continues to follow the path Aziraphale has indicated he should. Stopping just outside the shop door, the toes of his shoes on the threshold, his heels on the concrete step. "He can't possibly care for you Aziraphale, demons aren’t capable of love."

"He can love and he does!" Aziraphale knows, personally, that Crowley is capable of loving deeply and astoundingly strong. **"YOUR IDEA OF LOVE WAS TO HAVE ME MURDERED, YOU USELESS TWAT!"**

Before Gabriel can utter another word, Aziraphale slams the door in his face and pulls the blinds. It's no use to put up angelic wards against archangels, so he waits, half expecting the pompous bureaucrat to force his way inside once again.

After an hour of solitude, Aziraphale is stunned to realize, Gabriel is actually respecting his wishes.

"Well, this is a first." He mutters then proceeds to ensure all his blinds are closed and windows and doors locked, before returning to the back room. Aziraphale stretches across the sofa. Pulling the soft blanket over his face, he breathes in Crowley's lingering scent, desperately longing for October.

* * *

**One Year Earlier**

“He didn’t burn.” Gabriel hunches miserably at his desk, staring at his hands folded neatly on the polished surface. Michael, straight backed and silent, watches from her chair across the marble divide. “Why didn’t he fucking burn?”

The traitor had been released only an hour earlier, and something had felt off about him from the start. He stank of the demon Crowley, the offensive smell covering the principalities essence. To think of why makes Gabriel‘s insides churn.

“My guess.” Michael begins in her habitual matter-of-fact tone. She’s always been infuriatingly pragmatic, and that’s saying something coming from him. Gabriel knows that the next words past her lips won’t be tempered to spare his feelings. “It has everything to do with his spending last night with the demon.”

Gabriel’s blood boils, his skin flushing with the heat of it. “Are you insinuating that they....”

His voice trails off. He can barely bring himself to think it, let alone say it.

“I am.” An uncharacteristic hint of sympathy finds its way into Michael’s sentence. No one else receives this sort of softness from the most ferocious warrior of God’s army, and Gabriel does not normally accept pity. But between him and Michael it’s different, much like that of human siblings.

“The stench of the damned thing was all over him.” Gabriel sneers, his jaw twitching, as he absentmindedly chews on the inner lining of his mouth. “Was it the same with the demon?”

“Do you really want to know?” Her question a cautionary warning. _Can you handle this?_

Gabriel nods.

“The demon was also covered in Aziraphale’s sent.” Michael reaches across the desk and lays her hand on his.

“So, what’s our next move?” Gabriel finally looks up, making eye contact with the only being he’s ever seen as an equal.

“You still want to proceed in some way?” She bites her lower lip, studying Gabriel‘s face.

“Yes.” His breathing stutters. Gabriel can be vulnerable, here his emotions are safe.

“In what capacity?” Michael leans back in her chair and crosses her legs.

“I want them separated _. Forever_.” Seven thousand years Aziraphale has been his. Gabriel specifically chose Aziraphale for himself at the moment of the, then, cherub’s creation. “Not just separated, I want the demon to shatter Aziraphale’s heart. Crush him so badly that the traitor has no choice to come back to us” _to me_ “on his hands and knees.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Michael tilts her head. “No matter what beliefs are held about demons and their ability to love, this one did face down Satan himself for our wayward principality. I’m certain Crowley would never betray him intentionally.”

“Intentionally.” Gabriel holds up his index finger. “That’s the keyword.” He isn’t a fool. Oh, he may not know about human culture, but when it comes to celestial business tactics, he can be very astute. “Just like you, I have some back channels of my own. We just need to wait for or create the right time to use them.”

* * *

**July 17, Portland, Oregon**

“What do you mean, my request has been denied?” As per usual, Jesus tends to fit in better with his human brethren than his celestial. Even if he’s fighting to keep the humans from tearing one another apart right now.

“We understand that you feel you have some say in what happens among our ranks.” The Metatron states condescendingly. “But you are half human, meaning you have no real authority in Heaven.”

“Ask my Mother what She thinks of that.” It’s a jab. He knows that no one has spoken to his Celestial Mother since a week before his conception. Even then, She relayed the message to only Gabriel. The interaction, unfortunately, lending weight to the Archangel’s superiority complex, making him even more unbearable.

“Speaking of your Mother, it has recently been discovered you forged Her signature on your paperwork to return to earth.” Metatron looks at him with an expression similar to a parent who just realized their child has stolen money from their purse. “You’ve not been in contact with your Mother either. I’m curious.” The Archangel’s expression cruel. “Has She ever spoken a word to you?”

Jesus flinches the Archangel’s words cutting more deeply than the demigod would care to admit. His Celestial Mother has, in fact, never spoken to him. He’d concluded long ago that She’d only given him life to use him as an example. A lesson to teach humans selflessness and forgiveness. It’s backfired horribly, the majority of his followers have used his and his Mother’s names to commit all sorts of atrocities. And when it comes to his Mother’s forgiveness, well Jesus can name one redheaded demon who deserves it more, or just as much as anyone who has received it so far.

The Metatron knows he’s won this argument. “We will permit you to stay, to do the work you started. We will also send for the angel Aziraphale.” Jesus wishes he could knock the smug look off the big-headed freak’s face. “But a demon will not be privy to a mission of Heaven. Even if said mission was procured through deceit.”

“Fine.“ Jesus sighs, closing his dark brown eyes. “I will except your compromise.”

_For now._

* * *

**August 9, Mayfair**

“Yeshua?” Crowley’s eyes are still wet with tears, but he seems to finally register the information Aziraphale has been attempting to convey. “Why would anyone abduct him? Why was he even here? His work was supposed to be finished. Permanent retirement in Heaven without....with his earthly mother.”

Aziraphale purses his lips, closing his eyes and tries to catch his breath. The “without me” Crowley nearly muttered, filling the silence between them louder than any scream. _How much did he mean to you, my darling? More than me?_

“I’m not leaving you Crowley. I’ll never leave you for them.” _See I love you more than he did. I’ll never go anywhere without you._ “I’ll revoke my acceptance of the mission, you only need to ask it of me.”

Aziraphale wishes Crowley would ask it of him, feeling only the slightest tinge of guilt at the thought. He fears Crowley, once reunited with the gorgeous, dark skinned man, a man so beautifully different from Aziraphale, will run off with Jesus. Deserting the angel who had foolishly taken too long to return Crowley’s affection.

It had nearly happened before. There had been a stretch of 40 days and nights during which Crowley and Jesus had disappeared into the desert together. What they had done during that time alone still eats at Aziraphale’s imagination. The angel had feared his demon had left with the half god for good.

Aziraphale isn’t supposed to know about any of this of course. Crowley had been secretive of his and Yeshua’s relationship. Only admitting to it after the demigod’s death. Aziraphale never let on that he had watched them, unnoticed on several occasions, fighting back jealousy and undeserved disgust at seeing how intimate they looked together.

“But I felt it would be selfish of me to decide this for you.” Aziraphale drops his eyes reluctantly from a half-naked Crowley, forcing himself to study the scuff marks on his old brown brogues. “I know how much he means to you.”

_How much does he mean? If I take you to him, now that you no longer love me as you once did, will I lose you forever? Am I freely handing him the most precious thing in my universe? My heart and soul?_

“Thank you, Angel.” Crowley steps to Aziraphale, placing his hands on each of the angel’s shoulders. “Sorry I’ve overreacted so abysmally. Please explain everything to me.”

After righting their fallen stools and settling once again beside each other, Aziraphale does, to an extent. He begins with an edited version of Gabriel‘s visit. He’s never made Crowley aware of why Gabriel treats him as poorly as he does. There was a time Crowley would have fought to defend the angel and his honor. Whether the demon will admit it or not, he’s quite the knight in shining armor. And now, Aziraphale’s too ashamed that he hasn’t done more to put a stop to it. A part of him still hopes to one day win Crowley’s heart back. If the demon knew how weak and pathetic Aziraphale is, it would most likely not be conducive to that goal.

The angel then proceeds to tell of three more visits. The second from Sandalphon, five days after Gabriel’s consisting of the exact same offer. Aziraphale, even under physical threat from the brute, turned him away with the same insistence he had his predecessor.

Crowley’s fingers twitch at the mention of Aziraphale being threatened with physical harm. The angel’s pulse quickens in anticipation, as the demon lifts his hand. For a second Aziraphale thinks Crowley may wrap those slender fingers around his own. Disappointingly the hand hovers for a moment and then falls back to where it had originally rested on the granite counter.

He pretends not to notice, and starts the tale of his third visitor, the Metatron, who showed on the 29th. This Archangel informing Aziraphale that his and Crowley’s help had been requested by the son of God. However, the High Council was then only granting permission for Aziraphale to assist the demigod. Aziraphale refused again on the grounds, that Jesus was closer friends with Crowley than himself.

“I’m going to need to get accustomed to that before I see him again.” Crowley’s gaze is somewhere else. “Calling him Jesus to his face. Only ever used the word as a profanity. Probably should stop that too.” A listless smile spreads across his face. “That is, if we can find him.”

“We will my dear.” Aziraphale takes one of Crowley’s hands between both of his own. “Don’t despair. We will find him and I’ll make sure he’s returned safely.”

_You gave me so much, so selflessly throughout the years. I’ll give you anything to make you happy now, even if what makes you happy is no longer me._

Crowley nods. Smiling appreciatively, he places his free hand around the two cupping his own. “Now tell me of the last visit. I’m assuming it took place after Yesh...um.... Jesus’s abduction.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale is trying his hardest not to smile like a loon in this solemn moment. Here is Crowley, heartbroken, looking for comfort, while fearing for the safety of someone he loves and all Aziraphale can think about is the fact they’re holding hands. “Well, they must’ve decided to send someone with which I’ve never had any bad blood. So, you can imagine my shock at seeing the Archangel Raphael standing in my bookshop.”

“Raphael?” Crowley slowly releases himself from Aziraphale’s grasp. “I thought he died in the First War. I’ve never heard you mention him.”

“Yes, well I had assumed he had become one of the Fallen.” Aziraphale clasps his hands in his lap. The ghostly caress of Crowley’s strong hands still lingering in the nerves. “It’s the first time I’d seen him since the War as well.”

“So where has he been?” Crowley’s hands splay palm upward on his knees. He shakes his head with a playful smirk.

“Didn’t ask. Thought it rude.” Aziraphale scrunches his nose in apology. “Sorry.”

“Ugh.” Crowley rolls his head in mock exasperation. “Anyway, what did he say?”

“That Jesus had been abducted that very morning. The morning of August 3rd.” Aziraphale tilts his head with the side note. “That his request for both of our assistance had been approved, and the two of us would be working directly under Raphael on the mission.”

“When are we leaving?” Crowley stands, heading in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ll need to get dressed.”

Aziraphale pulls his pocket watch from his waistcoat. “We are to be at the Tadfield Airport in an hour and forty-five.”

“Airport?” Crowley stops, looking confused.

“Sorry, no major miracles I fear. They don’t want Her finding out.” The angel bites his lip, pointing skyward. “They do, however, have a private jet waiting to fly us.”

“Well at least we get to travel in luxury.” Crowley grumbles exiting the room.

_And at least I get a little more time with you to myself before I become nothing more than a third wheel._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus stands up for human rights, the Archangels devising their plan with Hell, and Crowley is beginning to think Aziraphale might actually be in love with him, but the two communicate so terribly with one another, it all goes downhill fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping I’ve gotten the dates accurate on my current events. Alot of time jumping again, hope it’s not confusing.
> 
> The poem used to identify Vice is called The Seven Deadly Sins and was written by xMisSxMassacrEx. Here is the link to where I read it online.
> 
> https://www.poems-and-quotes.com/poems/1142604
> 
> I’m hoping you are all staying safe and healthy in this crazy world we’re stuck in. I love each and every one of you ❤️

**July 24, Portland, Oregon**

Jesus stands, one face among many, in front of a tall granite obelisk, at the top of which is a bronze replica of a soldier. The last several evenings have been spent keeping the protesters safe as they work towards making their failed society into something better.

He wishes he had his Mother’s powers, then he could bend reality to his will. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t, it would interfere with free will and all. He’s really beginning to believe evil people don’t deserve free will.

Crowley would argue with him on the subject, they’d had that conversation before. Jesus can still hear the demon’s voice clear as day after all these years.

_“They all have evil inside. If you take free will away from anyone with the potential to do evil then none of them would have it.” Crawly kicked a rock as she paced._

_They had been in the desert two weeks at that point. Yeshua had been visited by Gabriel with orders to fast for 40 days and 40 nights. He’d said to take no one along as they might tempt him to break his fast. Yeshua, as per usual, didn’t listen, taking Crawly along for the conversation and because the demon never eats. If his companion refrained from food then surely Yeshua could too._

_Yeshua had forgotten what a mother hen she could be, however, fretting over the state of him not eating. As always, their conversation could go from something as mundane as Yeshua not taking proper care of himself, then morph into a philosophical discussion about the free will of humankind._

_“I get that.” Yeshua watched her walk around him from his seat on the dusty ground. He had a stick in his hands, absentmindedly drawing figures in the sand. “But why can’t She take it away after they do the bad?”_

_Crawly stopped her pacing and sighed, shoulders slumping forward. “Because then they lose the chance to redeem themselves, to be something better. She’s already done that to a large group of Her creation once.” Crawly shook her head, evident pain on her face. “I wouldn’t wish it on any more living beings.”_

_“You’re right.” Yeshua dropped the stick and pushed himself to his feet. Wiping the sand from his clothes he stepped closer to his demonic companion. “I’m sorry, I was being insensitive. I never thought of how my words might relate to you.”_

_“Yeah, it’s all right.” Crawly shrugged, pushing her long hair out of her face. “What one you want to look up today?”_

_“Your pick.” Yeshua watched as Crawly pulled the small device from inside the folds of her stola, a gift from her angel._

_Heaven’s technological advances were centuries ahead of earth. Each angel had been issued with, what in modern times will be considered, a smart phone. Aziraphale, having no use for such a thing and knowing how it would delight Crawly, had gifted it to her. She, of course, found a way to jailbreak it so Heaven couldn’t track it. Over the last several days in their desert isolation, Crawly had been using it to show Yeshua all the kingdoms of the world._

_“Heaven didn’t question your angel on losing this...?” Yeshua waved his hand at the contraption. “Whatever this is?”_

_“No.” Crawly laughed. “He’s kinda known for it.”_

_“For what?” Yeshua noticed the fond smile playing at the corners of Crawly’s mouth._

_“Losing things.” She had a starry look in her eyes. “He does it on purpose to help others. Gives them things, tells Heaven he lost it.”_

_“Sounds like your angel is a bit of a rebel.” Yeshua could feel the love pouring off the demon._

_“He is. Not like me though, he’s smart about it.” She brings her free hand to her lips. “Does it all for good reasons too.” She looks up to face Yeshua, her eyes sparkling. “I think it’s hot.”_

Jesus is pulled back to the present by a bunch of jackasses in uniforms slamming their shields against the metal barrier of the park. It’s been like this for several nights, but tonight Jesus and few new friends have a surprise planned.

He knows the canisters of tear gas will come soon. Chemicals that have been banned as illegal in international warfare, permitted to be used on domestic soil against citizens who want nothing more than to be treated fairly. Not criminals, not villains, but regular hard-working people, who are sick of themselves and their loved ones living every day in fear.

“Get ready!” Jesus calls loudly to the group behind him.

The officers launch the metal grenades into the crowd as a man on the Justice Center’s steps proclaims into a microphone. “Hey guys, don’t panic, don’t panic. All you first timers out there, it’s just tear gas. Everybody just relax.”

“Now!” Jesus bellows at the top of his lungs. A unit of orange clad heroes descend upon the chaos, leaf blowers in hand.

* * *

**The Previous December**

Gabriel steps hesitantly through the doors of the club. Sandalphon is behind him, lip curling above golden teeth in a sneer. “Disgusting.”

“I agree.” Gabriel nods. “But we need their help.”

“How do we know which “person” they are?” Sandalphon raises his hands and flexes the index and middle fingers on each.

“They’ll let us know.” Gabriel leads the both of them to the seventh table circling the dance floor. The archangels take a seat, averting their eyes as much as possible from the gyrating bodies on display. Gabriel places seven silver coins, stacked on top of each other, in the center of the table.

“You feel like dancing?” A young raven haired woman whispers in Gabriel‘s ear.

He turns his violet eyes directly to hers, his stare serious and cold. “Wrath is what they call me child. Won’t you let me stay a while?”

“Freak.” She curls the side of her nose in disgust and walks as quickly as possible back into the throng of human bodies.

“Not them.” Sandalphon watches her go.

“Not them.” Gabriel agrees.

This goes on for a while. One or both of them approached by would be suitors, each sent away. All are human, none are the demon Gabriel is waiting to meet. After two hours and close to twenty useless visitors to their table, the archangels decide to call it a night.

“Either of you gentlemen lonely?” A pretty, blond man with plump cheeks and curly locks, stops them at the door. Smiling playfully, his gaze focused directly on Gabriel.

The archangel’s steps falter. He suddenly does not want to leave, rather he wants to be wherever this beautiful creature directs him. He looks so much like...

“We’re not interested.” Sandalphon grumbles, tugging on Gabriel’s arm.

“How many do not know my name?” The cherubic man purrs. “I am lust, the passionate flame.”

“I am what you always crave.” Gabriel pulls his arm from Sandalphon’s grasp. “When I’m around you can’t behave.”

“Vice?” Sandalphon steps between his boss and the Lord of Hell.

“In the flesh.” They smile coyly, morphing their body to no longer resemble Aziraphale, but to now be a perfect replica of the principality. They reach around Sandalphon and take Gabriel’s hand in their own. “Won’t you both follow me to my office? I hear you may have some work for me.”

“You’re amazing.” Gabriel looks Vice over. If the demon were to ask him into bed right now, Gabriel wouldn’t tell them no. “I’m guessing this is how you get humans to commit lust?”

“One of my many tricks.” They giggle, the voice so sweet, so gentle, so very Aziraphale.

“Isn’t it painful or inconvenient when you’re enticing someone to wrath?” Sandalphon doesn’t sound as if he’s enjoying this visit. Gabriel can’t comprehend why.

“No, there are many ways to incite sin, I don’t always need to be directly involved. Often the right words will turn humans to vice.” They lead the archangels down a flight of stairs and to the doorway of a dark office. “However, if all else fails I can also do this.”

Vice snaps their fingers and Gabriel hears Sandalphon yelp behind him. He turns to see what looks like the demon Crowley standing in Sandalphon’s place.

“Put me back to rights!” Sandalphon growls.

Vice smirks. “You sound more demonic in that form than he does.”

“You’re incredible.” Gabriel coos, allowing himself to be pulled into the dark room.

* * *

**Same December Night**

Michael and Uriel stand in the lobby, staring at the entrances of Heaven and Hell.

“Explain to me why we need to discuss this with the opposition?” Uriel asks with her usual deadpan expression. Michael wonders how it’s possible to be emotionless all the time. It’s rather impressive really.

“Because they’re not really the opposition right now.” Michael stands as stoically as possible, fighting the urge to glance about nervously. She’s met with her contacts from Hell many times before, but never with another Archangel in tow. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Tell me again why Gabriel is comfortable with you fraternizing with demons, but not the traitor?” Uriel’s chilly stare feels as if it’s boring into Michael’s essence.

“Because I know my boundaries.” She stares back just as sternly. “I’m not friends with them, I’m using them. I’d have no qualms about killing any demon I’ve ever worked with.”

Uriel responds blandly. “If _you_ were to feel compassion for a demon, do you think it would make a difference to Gabriel?“

The two Archangel share a knowing look. Michael bites her lip. “No, not to the extreme it does with Aziraphale.”

Uriel goes silent, having said what she needs to say. Yet Michael can still see the wheels turning behind her hard features.

Michael has always respected Uriel. She’s smart for someone whose job is equivalent to that of a bodyguard. Uriel has the potential for advancement that Sandalphon doesn’t. Not only is she more intelligent, she’s less emotional. She has leadership skills and from where Michael stands, at second in command, that also makes Uriel dangerous.

Most lower angels don’t know this, but the Almighty has taken a permanent vacation. After the fiasco in Eden, She informed Gabriel she was leaving and left him in charge, the other four acting archangels under his command. When Metatron speaks for “Her” the words are those of Gabriel. The flood, the plagues, the death and war are all the archangel’s doing. They needed to keep human population and evil under control, and they used Her authority to do it.

She only emerged once and it was during this time that She left a human with a child. When She vanished again afterward, for whatever reason, Gabriel devised a plan to handle the situation for the Glory of Heaven. The child would die, be resurrected and they would use the publicity surrounding the event to pull more humans under their control.

Hell’s escalator abruptly reverses direction. Soon after, a low humming sound can be heard, growing louder as the seconds pass.

“Is that them?” Uriel’s gaze steady on the top of the moving stairwell

“That will be them.” Michael straightens the cuffs of her fitted blazer. “Let me do the talking.”

Beelzebub tops the escalator, stepping into the lobby. They are flanked on their left and right by Duke Hastur and Lord Dagon.

“Archangel Michael.” Beelzebub gives a shallow bow. Dagon follows suit.

“Prince Beelzebub, Lord Dagon.” Michael returns the formal gesture.

“Wank wings.” Hastur snarls, with none of the polite civility granted by his co-workers.

“Duke Hastur.” Michael shows him the same respect as she had the other two demons. She is an angel after all, and this is important negotiations. “We’ve come to inform you, heaven will be working in conjunction with the demon, Lord Vice, former archangel of Heaven, and the original Four Horsepeople. We want you to know that this is not a declaration of war, and we wish to invite Hell to assist in our planned capture of the traitors, the lowly demon Crowley and the Principality Aziraphale.”

“Only capture?” Beelzebub crosses their arms over their chest. “No punishment?”

“That will be up to you, Prince Beelzebub.” Michael continues, the picture of polite civility. “If you do not wish to assist, the demon Crowley will be imprisoned and tortured in Heaven until we can find a way to destroy him. However, should you choose to join us, he will be handed to you to do with as you please.” She smirks. “He will already be emotionally broken by that point, so he won’t be difficult to handle.”

The demons pass knowing glances amongst the three of them. Beelzebub then turns their gaze to Michael and Uriel, smiling. “We’re interested. Tell us more about how you intend to break the traitor.”

* * *

**August 9, 2:30PM**

Speeding along the country road, Crowley feels as if his body is vibrating. He’s currently suffering from an emotional overload, every feeling a being can have swirling within him at the same time.

There are anger and fear for an old friend. Crowley’s had a lot of friends throughout history, but Jesus is the closest thing he’s ever had to what humans would call a brother. Their bond feels like blood. Both discarded by God, rather cruelly in Crowley‘s opinion, though Jesus would always defend Her.

The two of them misfits, but Jesus had a way back in. His whole deal was dying to give the unforgivable redemption, and deep-down Crowley has always hoped to gain forgiveness for himself. Not that he wants Heaven, he just wants to be worthy of his own piece of heaven sitting on the leather seat beside him.

The demon steals sporadic glimpses of the angel as the Bentley barrels forward. Something feels different, something has changed. Aziraphale had held his hand back at the flat, had comforted him. Crowley can still feel the heat of Aziraphale’s soft skin on his palm.

_“I’m not leaving you Crowley. I’ll never leave you for them.”_ It had almost sounded like a declaration of love, a vow of commitment. The small spark of hope Crowley has carried with him for millennia has, as of this afternoon, begun to flame. Aziraphale was so adamant to prove his loyalty to the demon, so willing to risk everything again to help Crowley. The angel is prepared to deny Heaven a second time, Crowley knows it must mean something.

_Please Someone let it mean something._

“You alright?” He notices Aziraphale has been silent most of the ride. “You’re not talking my ear off, that’s not like you.”

Crowley, suddenly feeling brave and willing to test his new theory, pats the angel’s hand where it rests on the seat between them. He doesn’t dare leave it there in case he’s wrong. A gentle pat can be played off as friendly.

Aziraphale’s eyes blow wide. Crowley thinks he spots hope behind those sparkling orbs, the angel’s full cheeks reddening. When Crowley returns his hand to the Bentley’s steering wheel, Aziraphale brings his own from the seat and into his lap, rubbing it affectionately.

_Well, I’ll be damned._ Crowley’s inner critic is actually impressed. _Don’t get your hopes up too much, but there might be something here._

Aziraphale clears his throat. “Just nervous.”

“Me too Angel.” Crowley takes a deep breath, thankful for the dark shades. This could all be a trap, Jesus may be like family, but this mission could take from Crowley the one thing he can’t live without. “Too much is on the line here. If Heaven is playing us I could lose the one person I care about more than anything.”

_Too fast! Too fast dipshit!_ Crowley’s mind screams, he knows he’s impulsive, but any time the Angel gives him an inch he can’t help but try for a mile.

Aziraphale’s countenance crumples, he looks like he’s in agony. Before he turns to look out the window, Crowley catches sight of a tear on the Angel’s face.

_Okay, so he isn’t mad about the confession. That’s good. But you’ve scared the wits out of him fix this!_

“I’m sorry Angel.” Crowley keeps his voice as soft and soothing as possible. “I’ll keep you safe, and if you don’t want to do this I understand. I’ll turn the car around and take you home this instant.”

“What about Jesus?” Aziraphale turns to face him, the whites of his eyes now red.

_Don’t be too forward, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t push him more._

Crowley remembers a book shop fire. Thinking Hell had destroyed the only being he’s ever truly loved. He won’t let that happen for real, no matter Aziraphale’s decision now. Crowley has to let Aziraphale know how he feels. “I’ll be damned again before I sacrifice the love of my life for a friend that I love like a brother. I’ll get you home safe, and I’ll go get Jesus alone.”

“Love of your life?” Aziraphale’s nostrils flare, he looks bewildered and on the verge of tears again.

“Well yeah.” Crowley pulls the car into the Tadfield Airport lot. “Since the day we met.”

He parks the Bentley below two trees. If she’s going to wait on him here until he gets back, he wants her to be as comfortable as possible. The demon glares daggers at the surrounding wildlife, ensuring nothing in the area would dare drop any feces or pollen on his sweet girl.

“What about Frank and Elvis?” Aziraphale exits the vehicle and waits for him on the edge of the pavement. “Or Freddie? How could you be with them like you were if you cared so deeply?”

_Ouch catty much?_

“Suppose the same way you could be with Oscar.” Crowley steps beside the angel, the two making their way to the large jet waiting for them on the tarmac. “My time with them was as friends, nothing more.”

“You used the term brother to express your feelings.” Aziraphale fidgets with his hands, glancing about skittishly. “Have you always felt that way? I had been under the impression that at one time you were in love.”

“In love?!” His silly angel has spent all this time thinking he’d been in a relationship with Jesus! “Hell no Angel! Echk.” Crowley pulls a disgusted face. “Not ever. Too much divinity there. Not my type.”

“Ah, yes, of course not. Silly me.” Aziraphale’s eyes drop. Crowley realizes the divinity comment might have been taken wrong. A little divinity is fine, hell a lot if its Aziraphale! But Jesus is the literal son of God! Even if Aziraphale didn’t exist and that was an option (but he does exist, therefore there are no other options Crowley wishes to consider) Crowley wouldn’t want to deal with that in-law.

Crowley opens his mouth to explain this point in detail, when he’s cut off by a tall, lean, and insanely handsome archangel.

“Aziraphale! Crowley!” Raphael greets the duo with enthusiasm, his long black hair falling elegantly over his graceful shoulders. “You’re right on time! I was beginning to worry.”

“You can guarantee I’ll be on time.” Crowley smirks. “I know how to get to places quickly.”

“So I’ve heard.” Raphael smiles at Aziraphale.

“I must have misunderstood on our last meeting.” Aziraphale says primly, still upset at Crowley’s misspeak. “I was under the impression Crowley and I would have the jet to ourselves. That you would be waiting for us in the States.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have given you bad information, but we have a lot to discuss before we land.” Raphael’s green eyes shining with excitement as he places a hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back and leads him to the jet. “Unfortunately, you won’t be getting much time alone together until this is over.”

“We’ll see about that.” Crowley growls under his breath, glaring at the hand pressed so intimately against his Angel. Raphael just became another name on the list of archangels that Crowley doesn’t trust.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley can’t get it together. A surprising friendship seems to be emerging, and a bit more of Heaven and Hell’s plans unfold

The jet is larger on the inside than it looks from the outside. Celestial construction and engineering at it's best. The hotel in which they are booked to stay is another such feat of angelic work. Celestial Suites is a five-star, 20 story, luxury resort, and is hidden in a pocket of space and time untraceable by humans.

Raphael slips into a bench seat behind a rectangular wooden table and gestures for Aziraphale and Crowley to join him. The demon takes the seat across from the archangel and looks to Aziraphale expectantly. The Principality, feeling embarrassed and slightly betrayed by their earlier conversation, takes the seat next to Raphael.

Aziraphale knows he's being absurd to feel this way, Crowley doesn't owe him anything. It's Aziraphale's own fault he's misread millennia of signals. He's misinterpreted Crowley's kindness, the demon's willingness to accept him when everyone else demanded Aziraphale change. The angel realizes he's been projecting his own feelings of love onto Crowley this entire time.

Glancing at his best friend, Aziraphale isn't surprised to see his....the demon glaring. Well, his face is contorted into what could be considered a glare, although it's difficult to tell when his eyes are hidden behind dark shades. The demon's brow is furrowed, his jaw set tight, the muscles twitching ever so slightly and his nails are digging into the table's smooth varnish.

"So where to begin?" Raphael claps his hands together, either trying to ignore or entirely missing the tension between his two flight companions. "Just over a month ago, paperwork was filed and signed by God Herself." He holds up an index finger. "Or so we thought."

Raphael's voice drops conspiratorially, he leans forward, his elbows on the table. "Turns out, our young Jesus forged his Mother's signature."

"Sounds like him." Crowley smirks, his shoulders relax at the mention of the demigod. "He always has been one to do what needs done, even if it means breaking a few rules."

"You mean like saving the world?" Aziraphale stomach clenches at the fond look on Crowley's face. He feels as if he has fire in his veins. "Which you and I did together."

"Uhhhhh, yeeeeaaaahhh." Crowley draws out the words, his voice an octave higher than usual, the left side of his nose and mouth curling up. "But Jesus does this stuff on his own cause he believes what he’s doing is the right thing."

"I helped you stop Armageddon, save the humans, because I believed it to be the right thing to do." _He doesn't know he's hurting you. He doesn't realize you love him._ Aziraphale inhales deeply attempting to control his influx of emotions.

"If I recall correctly, Angel." Crowley pushes his glasses on top of his head. "I had to beg, bargain and bribe you with expensive food and wine before you would agree to help me."

"Oh." Raphael glances between the duo, intrigued. "Heaven has been under the impression that you two have been in cahoots for centuries."

"We have." Aziraphale states with determination, eyes locked on Crowley's

"Sort of." Crowley smiles, as if he's enjoying stabbing the angel with his words. "Aziraphale has always remained unwaveringly faithful to Her."

Is he trying to convince them to take me back? Convince me to go back? What was the show in his kitchen earlier? What changed? Aziraphale is certain he knows what changed.

"Jesus hasn't?" Raphael's full attention now on Crowley.

"He has but different." Crowley rubs the back of his neck, head tilting from side to side. "Jesus is like a kid, who loves their parent, but rebels when they don't agree with Mom's world views. Aziraphale is like the dutiful soldier, who will protect his God's honor and interests at all costs."

"Can we stop discussing this and get on with why we are here?" Aziraphale clenches his jaw so tightly he's surprised his teeth don't crack. The idea that Crowley still doesn't trust him, thinks Aziraphale only did what he did out of some duty to Heaven. And the most painful part, before today, Hell just a few hours ago, Crowley would've fought tooth and nail to keep Aziraphale from returning to the host. Now it seems as if he's handing the angel over, freely and gladly.

Aziraphale's breath catches in his throat. Perhaps that is exactly what Crowley is doing. With Jesus back in the equation, the love of his life and all, he has no more use for the companionship of his best friend. His brother. The idea that this is how Crowley's always viewed him makes the angel want to vomit.

"Actually, is there a bar? Aziraphale needs to remove himself from the equation until he calms down. He understands Crowley cares enough to not want Aziraphale to be left all alone when he moves on with his life. It doesn't mean it hurts any less. "I don't want to derail the conversation, as Crowley's memories of is dear friend are important to him. Perhaps you can brief us separately on the subject."

"Oh, well yes of course, if that will make you both more comfortable." Raphael turns in his seat and points to a door behind where he and Aziraphale set. "There's a bar directly through there and some frozen treats in a refrigeration device. We all know what purveyors of human traditions the both of you are and wanted you to be as comfortable as possible on a ten hour flight."

"Thank you." Aziraphale gives as sweet a smile as he can muster to the archangel and demon. Catching Crowley's eyes. "If you'll excuse me."

Standing and without another word, Aziraphale walks through the previously indicated doorway. The new space, just like the last, screams Heaven with it's white walls and clean interior. Evidence of some originality can be detected, however, in the warm browns of the plush sofa and carpeted floors. The tones remind him of the bookshop, almost as if someone renovated the area to make him feel at home.

A large shelf of books adorns the wall to his left. Glancing over the titles Aziraphale notices they are first editions of some of his favorites. Milne, Wilde and many more. A long honey brown sofa faces the shelves, with enough seating for at least eight. Directly ahead is a white door, a sign above reading **Cockpit, Pilot Admittance Only**. To his right a long bar with an ample variety of beverages on display. A slender angel stands with a glass tumbler in her hands, wiping it down with a towel. Aziraphale approaches and takes a seat on one of the ten stools lining the front of the bar.

"Principality." She nods, her pale eyes study him. "What can I get for you? Merlot? Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Whisky." He drops his head into his hands.

"We have an expensive malt scotch." She places the glass in front of him and turns to retrieve the bottle of Talisker from a higher shelf. "Our files stated to have it on hand for your demon. Paperwork listed you to be a red wine connoisseur."

"He's not my demon." Aziraphale sobs. "At least not anymore."

"Oh." She purses her lips, her forehead drawing down, pale eyes sympathetic and bright. "Trouble in paradise?"

Aziraphale raises his face from his hands to look at her apprehensively. "Excuse my bluntness dear, but who are you?"

"Forgive me." She fills his glass with the amber liquid. "Seraphina."

Aziraphale throws back the warm liquid, grimacing as it ignites a path down his throat and into his stomach. He taps the glass with his finger and Seraphina responds with a refill. They repeat the interaction thrice more before Aziraphale, beginning to finally relax, responds to the pretty red-haired angel. "That's a lovely name. M' Aziraphale."

"Yes, I’m aware." She smiles. "Now would you like to tell me what's troubling you?"

"We barely know one another. Why’d I do that?" _This stuff is strong, no wonder Crowley likes it._ His bones feel like liquid, his muscles like jelly. Seraphina continues to supply him with the liquid strength, and in his current state he's beginning to think she does look quite trustworthy.

"Cause I'm your bartender." She places the nearly empty bottle before him and a full bottle next to it. "I believe it's part of my job description to listen to what ails you."

"Y'know, wha m'dear." Azirapahle nods. "Sounds g'nuff to me."

* * *

"You two having some problems?" Raphael turns from watching Aziraphale step through the door, to once again face Crowley. The corners of the Archangels lips turned slightly skyward. "Lovers squabble?"

"L-lovers?" Crowley pulls his gaze from the door to return Raphael's stare.

"You are, aren't you?" Raphael leans his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands.

"Errr, uhm, no." Crowley states ever so articulately. Too many things have happened since he first woke only two hours ago and his mind is still attempting to catch up. One thing he is certain of, with perfect clarity, is he does not like the hopeful look on the archangel's face. "Not yet anyway. We're working on it."

"Are you now?" Raphael points over his shoulder with the thumb of his left hand. "Because I'm not so sure he's aware of that fact."

"Wot?" Crowley returns his shades over his eyes. He really hates this pretty boy asshole.

"Not important." Raphael flourishes his hand dismissively. "Let me finish filling you in on the situation with Jesus."

Crowley sits back in the seat waving his hand in a circular motion for Raphael to continue. Crossing his arms over his chest he stares out the jet's window.

"So. Jesus forged paperwork, for good reasons of course. That's why Heaven permitted him to continue what he had started." Raphael leans to his left, trying to catch Crowley's line of sight. The demon continues to look anywhere but the archangel out of spite.

With a sigh Raphael continues. "He saw how the Americans are tearing one another apart. The oppression, pain and felt the need to act."

"Why now? The humans have been terrible to each other for thousands of years." Crowley continues to fake interest in the clouds outside the small oval window to his right.

"You and Aziraphale." Crowley can hear the smile in Raphael's voice. "Jesus, like everyone in Heaven, was told the story of the both of you saving the world. If you could achieve that why shouldn't he believe he could calm a country."

"Why _that_ country?" Crowley's eyes dart in the direction of the dark-haired angel, his glasses keeping him from giving the movement away. "There's oppression and suffering everywhere."

"They're doing it in his name. Terrible, horrible things, and saying it's his will."

"And you know this how?" Crowley slowly turns his head to face Raphael again.

"Archangel." Raphael points to himself, eyebrows raised. "Now let me finish. I know your famous for asking questions, but I need you to hush right now."

Crowley bites his lip and continues to glare. Raphael smiles arrogantly. "As I was saying, Jesus felt the need to act, and shortly after requested your’s and Aziraphale's assistance. The Principality was approved you were denied."

Raphael waits as if expecting Crowley to interrupt. He doesn't. Not out of some sense of respect, but why piss off powerful beings and risk death without a good reason to do so? The archangel's smile grows all the more with the silence. "Aziraphale turned down the offer. Of course, he had no idea the offer was from Jesus when Gabriel first approached him."

Raphael's expression shifts, his eyes almost gleeful. "From what I hear, our little Principality was quite verbally abusive to my co-worker." The archangel shrugs. "But I assume tensions are high, seeing as they were betrothed until a year ago."

The world stops spinning, Crowley’s vision goes dark and time ceases to move. Betrothed? What the fuck? Betrothed?! The words repeatedly screaming over and over in his head, and then time starts again and they fall out of his mouth.

"What the fuck?" Crowley growls from somewhere deep. "What the fuck are you going on about?"

"I said to wait until I was finished." Raphael tuts.

"No, no fuck that!" Crowley doesn't care that he's screaming, this can't be true. None of what this asshole is saying about his angel can be true. If it is, then Aziraphale hooked up with that piece of shit during their years together on earth. During the Arrangement? Was he the reason Aziraphale refused to stop Armageddon!? "I've heard the rest. Jesus is kidnapped, we need to find him. Is there anything else?"

"No that sums up all of our intel." Raphael has the same look of fear and sick enjoyment horror enthusiasts get when watching an exceptionally gory scene in a slasher film. "Did Aziraphale never tell you he and Gabriel had been a long-time item?"

"He most, fucking, certainly did not!" Crowley's breath catches. _Don't cry, not now, not in front of him._

"Such language." Raphael watches Crowley like he's a circus animal and the archangel is waiting for the next trick. "Started soon after the creation, prior to the Fall. and ended, of course, at the botched Armageddon. Gabriel continued to hold hope until Aziraphale spent that night at your place. After that, we’d assumed he had been cheating on Gabriel with you for a long while."

Before the Fall. The entirety of their friendship. Longer than the 6000 years Crowley has loved his Angel. Raphael continues to speak, Crowley can't hear him over the roar of blood in his ears. Aziraphale was with the bastard who tried to kill him. Rejected and denied Crowley again and again for a being who later wanted him dead!

No matter how badly his Angel might hurt him, Crowley would never dream of harming him. Maybe, if they were an item and Aziraphale was unfaithful, the tramp he'd been running around with, but never Aziraphale.

_They think I'm the tramp_. Crowley screws his eyes shut fighting the urge to vomit. _Is that all I was to Aziraphale too? A temptation? Pretty whore? Worthless fucking demon, that's me._

"Gabriel will be happy to know we were wrong. That he still has a chance." Raphael's last sentence snaps Crowley back to reality.

"No, he doesn't." Crowley panics, leaning forward in his seat he jabs his index finger in Raphael's direction. "Aziraphale never cheated, we've yet to get together, but after Gabriel tried to kill him it's definitely over.”

Crowley thinks back to his and Aziraphale's earlier conversation in his flat, and their interactions in the Bentley during the ride to Tadfield. "In fact, he expressed his affections for me earlier today."

"That didn't look to be the case a few minutes ago. He appeared absolutely irate and done with you. Embarrassed really." Raphael crosses his arms over his chest. "Besides, even if you're correct, what makes you think he'd be any more loyal to a low-level demon than the leading Archangel of Heaven?"

"I, ya uhm." Crowley mumbles, trying to collect his thoughts. There is absolutely no way Aziraphale would have not told him about this for millennia. "I think you're lying. This entire conversation is a scam, some ploy to tear us apart. Aziraphale and I have been best friends for a thousand years at least, if he was with Gabriel romantically he would've told me."

Raphael's eyes widen but the smile never leaves his face. "Angel's don't lie Crowley."

"You're accussing my Angel of lying!" _Aziraphale is good and kind and everything perfect. If anyone is trying to pull something it's Heaven. Not Aziraphale, please Satan not Aziraphale. I'd rather drink holy water than believe everything between us was a deception._

"An angel who has been tempted by a demon." Green eyes continue to study him.

"I never tempted him!" Crowley deflates. It's growing more and more difficult to fight back the tears. "I love him."

"Listen." Raphael's voice changes, the feel of the words are soothing, like menthol on sore muscles. _Right, holy healer_. He holds his hands up in surrender and tips his head in the direction of a doorway behind Crowley. "There are sleeping quarters through there, and I know you're one for napping. We still have 9 hours in the air, go get some shut eye. I'm certain you'll feel much better when you wake."

"Yeah." Crowley does feel exhausted, and time alone in the dark to sort through all the information in his head does sound tempting. "I'll do that."

"I'll let Aziraphale know what you're doing. Raphael reaches across the table and places his hand over Crowley's. The demon doesn't jerk away. _Feels nice._ "I'm so sorry to have upset you, Crowley. Surely all of this has been a misunderstanding between yourself and the Principality."

"Misunderstanding." Crowley nods feeling nothing and everything. His whole world has been flipped on it's head in a single conversation.

Standing, he turns his back to the angel, and stumbles to the acknowledged door. Hands hitting the metal, Crowley awkwardly propels through the entry and shuts the barrier behind him. Honing in on the middle of three beds, the demon falls face down onto the mattress and cries himself to sleep.

* * *

**August 8, 9:00PM PST, Celestial Suites**

Hastur is perched on a plush stool, glaring at the polished wood of the hotel bar. He's beyond plastered, hating everyone and everything. The hotel stinks of ozone, cleanliness and Heaven.

Like her. No, not God, the other her. She's one of two beings he hates more than the Her that tossed him from Heaven. In fact, he's hated Michael a lot longer. With her clear skin and clean sharp clothes, Michael is too white, bright and pure and he hates her so fucking much! He's agreed to work with the fluorescent bitch because of the promise they would torture and destroy the only creature he hates more than Michael or God. _Crowley._

"May I join you." A soft voice breaks his thoughts. _Speak of the angel_. He muses, when upon turning he is faced with none other than the white queen herself.

"You may not." He attempts a growl, but it's too slurred to have any real effect.

"I know you hate me, but he chose me long before the Fall." She doesn't touch him, doesn't force her way onto the stool beside his. "I understand how you feel." She pauses, her eyebrows drawing together. "If he had chosen differently I'd be just as angry with you as you are with me. But will you truly hate me forever because I accepted an opportunity that you would have accepted just as quickly had you been offered?'

"Go fuck yourself." Hastur grimaces, his throat closing around the words.

"You can continue to shut me out. Hate me for Ligur's choice." Michael's gray eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "Or you can accept, as I have, that we understand one another's pain as no one else can."

"You'll never understand my pain." Hastur downs his twentieth shot of Wild Turkey then, grabbing the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, pours another. _If I'd left him alone. Left him with you, he'd still be alive._

"I love him as much as you do." Michael's face flushes, her stoic expression faulters. "But I can't let Heaven know, can't let anyone know." She wipes clear the stray tears running down her cheeks. "I'm risking so much by being here, speaking with you."

"So why risk it? Why're you here?" Hastur stares into his glass, unable to look directly at Ms. Squeaky Clean.

"I don't want to be alone with this any longer." She sobs. "I need to have someone in my life to talk with, someone who understands."

_So do I._ Hastur sighs. Demons aren't supposed to love, not each other and definitely not angels. But not supposed to and not doing are two completely different things. He had loved Ligur from the sidelines for centuries, while protecting his and Michael's relationship to keep him safe and happy.

Deflating, Hastur pats the bar stool beside him. "So, your Majesty, what's your poison?"

* * *

**August 8, 9:00PM, Celestial Suites room 712**

"So, we're going to miracle the jet to London?" Sandalphon rubs a hand over the smooth flesh of his scalp.

"Yes." Vice leans their head back against the wall behind them. From their perch at the head of their queen size bed, they have an easy view of the two archangels, a former seraphim and former angel.

Beelzebub and Dagon set side by side at the foot of the bed, Gabriel is taking notes at a small desk to Vice's right and Sandalphon paces the room confused.

"But we aren't going to miracle it back?" The stout archangel stops beside Gabriel looking around to each of the beings present. "I'm lost."

"No." Dagon rolls her eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You? Lost? But you've always been so quick."

Beelzebub snickers.

Sandalphon shoots an angry glare in the duo’s direction. Gabriel holds up a hand to stop him from whatever rash decision he's considering. "The traitors have been told that we don't want to alert God, which would prove an obvious lie if we use big miracles around them. Only those of us present, Hastur, Uriel, Michael and Metatron are now aware of Her absence."

"Also, we need time to plant and grow my seeds in their minds before they get here." Vice pulls their knees to their chest. They've taken on their true form for the evening. At least their demonic true form. Tall, slender, pale skin, dark hair, and midnight black eyes. They had been lucky at the Fall, not receiving an animal aspect. Instead, they are able to shift and bring others to their deadliest destructions, the polar opposite of who they'd been before. "The plan is to place the fear and doubt, but not tear them apart completely. We need them to reconcile for a bit so that Crowley can rip what they are apart from the inside."

"Why waste all that time when we can do this quickly?" Sandalphon grouses. Vice loves the wrath pouring from the archangel, with just a smidge of.. _is that envy?_

"If an outside force causes their split, they can easily blame exterior powers and come back together." Gabriel rubs his forehead, waves of pride emitting from his chiseled form. "But if Crowley is the obvious party responsible for shattering Aziraphale's heart." Gabriel shrugs. "Well, there’s no coming back from that. And I'll be waiting to pick up the pieces."

"What are mine and Dagon's roles on this flight from London?" Beelzebub twists to face Vice.

"As long as you're amenable to the idea, I plan to shift you into your pre-Fall forms." Vice's eyes are like inkwells. "Aziraphale won't recognize you because of Dagon's former low rank and Crowley was never in contact with anyone other than the low-ranking star makers under his supervision and Aziraphale. As for Beelzebub, no one knew any of the Seraphim prior to the Fall. Too high up and since everyone above archangel status wound up down under....." Vice curls the corner of their nose apologetically. "Prince Beelzebub, you'll be the pilot and Lord Dagon will be on board as the bartender. Of course, please use your former names."

"Of course." Beelzebub looks to Dagon, the Lord of Files returning their smile. "This might be fun."

"Naturally, Raphael will be assisting." Vice glances knowingly to Gabriel.

The archangel smirks, violet eyes as bright as flames. "Naturally."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus is in danger, Aziraphale and Crowley get a calm moment, for now, and there may be unexpected allies.

When Jesus comes to, he’s on a comfortable bed in what looks to be a luxury hotel suite.

“This is unexpected.” He murmurs, setting up and wincing at the pain shooting up the back of his head.

The last thing he remembers is sleeping until noon before getting up and wandering the streets feeding the hungry and healing the hurt and sick.

Jesus was a bit troubled to realize his powers have become limited on this return visit to earth, not that they were all that grand while he was in Heaven. Both places he’s able to heal the sick and comfort the dying (not that many are sick or dying in Heaven, at least no one he would have access to). However, in Heaven he’s much like an angel, no food or drink required.

The moment his feet touched earth’s soil, he became fully human this time, with the exception of keeping his powers to heal. He’s not almighty, and in no way a god, just a human with some cool magic tricks and an impressive lineage.

He had turned to take a shortcut down an alley, when a white van pulled up behind him. A group of human shaped beings descended upon him, one cracking him in the back of the head with a crowbar. Next thing he knows he’s here.

Pulling back the sheets, he’s a bit concerned realizing that, for some unknown reason, he’s in different clothing than he’d been in before losing consciousness.

Bonus, though, the T-shirt and sweatpants are a perfect fit.

“Miracled you something more comfortable in which to sleep.”

Jesus swings his legs off the side of the bed to easier face the unknown voice. “Raphael? Where am I?”

The archangel sets atop a cushioned window seat in front of a large bay window on the far-left side of the room. Lavender chiffon curtains cover the edge of the glass.

The entire suite is spacious and open. From Jesus’ perch he can see a living area with a sofa and recliner facing a large flatscreen and entertainment system, to the left of that a full kitchen. There’s one doorway leading to an area closed off from the open space. Jesus assumes it must be the restroom.

“Celestial Suites, top floor.” Raphael throws his arms out in a grand gesture. “Hope it’s to your liking. You’ll be staying for a couple days.” His lower lip juts out and he bobs his head from side to side. “How you get to leave is up to you really.”

Jesus is a bit taken aback. Ever since he’d met Raphael the previous January, the archangel has been nothing but kind and supportive. Now his words seem downright sinister. “Sorry, I’m confused as to what you’re trying to tell me.”

Seven months prior they had passed in one of Heaven’s public park simulations. Raphael had told him of the chaos in the United States and had convinced Jesus it was time to once again take up the mantle of defender of the oppressed and Savior of the weak and downtrodden.

“We’re holding you prisoner.” Raphael looks him over, eyebrow raised shaking his head.

“Have I done something wrong?” Jesus slides fingers through his long dark hair. “I’ve stuck entirely to the work which you and I agreed upon.”

“Yeah, about that.” Raphael smirks. “I was using you.”

“What?” Jesus’ head still throbs from his injury. The pain making what’s happening all the harder to process. “How do you consider you were using me? I was happily helping all those people.”

“You poor, naïve mortal.” Raphael watches as the weight of his words sink in. “You were merely the bait to draw in the traitors. Heaven wishes to bring Aziraphale back into the fold and Hell plans to destroy the demon Crowley.” Laughing he eyes Jesus like a cat would an injured mouse. “When has Heaven or Hell ever actually cared what the humans do to one another? Our main concern is keeping them playing our game.”

“Hold up.’ Jesus snaps his fingers to miracle way the headache. “There’s a lot to unpack in those last few sentences.” The pain doesn’t leave, so he begins snapping quickly in rapid succession. “And-why-isn’t-this-working.” Jesus emphasizes each word with each snap of his fingers.

“Your mortal, dip shit. I just said that.” Raphael spits. For the briefest of moments, what looks like a swirl of black ink circulates across the archangel’s emerald iris.

Jesus is trying to adapt to the situation but it’s hard to do so while feeling hurt and confused. “Well half yeah, but my Mother...”

“Fuck your Mother.” Raphael snarls. “Nothing special about you ever came from Her. She made you and walked away. Heaven, the archangels more specifically, gifted your powers unto you.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Jesus stands, his legs feel like jelly and he takes a step to study himself. “My powers come from my genetics.”

“It makes sense when you realize you’re Mother has been absent since Eden.” Raphael Stands and begins pacing around Jesus in a semi-circle. “Well except for the time She sired and abandoned a bastard.” Raphael licks his lips, the look on his face is far beyond disturbing. “Gabriel used the opportunity your conception gave to make you a PR event for the office. He gave you your abilities, and then he took them away.”

“That’s impossible, no archangel has that kind of power.” Jesus turns his body to the speed of Raphael’s steps, ensuring to keep the angel within his line of sight.

Raphael holds up an index finger and shakes his head. “But five archangels under the direction of one can.”

“Five?” Jesus does his best to hide the terror growing in his core. “I thought you made six?”

Raphael smiles, showing too many teeth. “You’re smart, so I’m gonna give you a choice. Either go back to Heaven just as you are, keep your mouth shut, don’t try to stop our plans for the traitors and spend eternity with the earthly mother who wants you.” Raphael’s expression is gleeful, like that of a child burning an ant under a magnifying glass. “Or spend the last of your existence in the deepest pit of Hell, where you’ll be tormented and torn apart until nothing of who you are remains.”

“You can’t do that.” Jesus begins to panic. He knows exactly of where Raphael is speaking. Only the worst of the worst end up in Tartarus. To be sent there is a death sentence to your very soul. Gone, poof, as if you never existed.

“I can and I will.” Raphael stops his pacing directly in front of the suite’s door, he almost seems to grow in stature. Jesus has the urge to cower and hide. “You’ve got five days to make your decision, we need you either out of the way or willing to comply by then.” He turns to exit. “There are barriers up, you’ll be unable to leave this room. And if you lie to go to Heaven and then break our deal, not only do we send you to Tartarus, but your earthly mother’s soul will join you there.” Looking at Jesus one last time. “See you soon.”

Raphael shuts the door behind him. Jesus can hear the mechanisms inside latch and lock. He sinks onto the bed in defeat. “I’m royally fucked.”

* * *

**August 10, 4:30AM PST**

Aziraphale is drunk and confused. He has no idea what time it actually is. _We left Tadfield at 2:30PM BST, that would’ve been 10:30PM PST, but right now we’re over the Atlantic Ocean, and who knows what time it is here! And why is this jet so infuriatingly big?!_

He’s wandered through multiple rooms since Seraphina excused herself to join her friend Eremiel, the aircraft’s pilot, in the cockpit.

After his companion had left him, Aziraphale finished the third bottle of whisky alone and went off in search of Crowley. The angel needed to find him and apologize. If all that remains of their relationship is weeks or days together, Aziraphale did not want to squander that time fighting.

He lumbers through the next small room and passes the table at which he, Raphael and Crowley had sat earlier. He’s hoping to find Crowley alone, and that Raphael is biding his time on the opposite side of the jet from his demon. The archangel seems polite enough, but his presence isn’t helping Aziraphale’s anxieties. He needs this little bit of time he has left with his best friend _alone._

Not lifting his foot high enough, the angel’s toe catches on the carpet, causing him to stumble against a metal door. Twisting the handle, Aziraphale enters a dark room. The path ahead illuminated by the light streaming in behind him, Aziraphale can see three full size beds. In the center bed a sweet pale face and bright red hair poke out the top of the thin sheet.

Aziraphale begins to cry. Full of liquid courage and sorrow at knowing this might be his last and only chance to see Crowley like this, the angel falls into the bed beside his best friend and lays his hand on the demon’s face.

Yellow eyes flutter open, almost glowing in the semi-darkness. In a single breath a series of emotions flit across the demon’s beautiful face, finally settling on concern.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley tentatively lays his own hand on Aziraphale’s tear damp cheek. “Angel? What happened?”

“Don’t wanna lose you.” Aziraphale sobs uncontrollably. It all hurts so much. So very, very much. “I love you Crowley, ‘ave since f’ever. Thousands ‘n thousands of years.” He’s rambling, he doesn’t care. Aziraphale needs Crowley to know how he feels. “M’sorry. Know you don’t love me back. But you should know, I’ll wait in case you an’ Jesus don’t work out.”

Crowley’s eyebrows draw down, before shooting up comically. Slitted pupils flitting quickly over Aziraphale’s face. “Angel. No, no, no, Angel. You got everything wrong. I love you too.”

“I know.” Aziraphale nods quickly, his heart breaking further. Crowley’s tender touch overwhelming his senses. “Like a brother, but I _love_ , love you. More than anything. More than Her.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley hisses, removing his hand from Aziraphale’s face, he pushes himself into a sitting position. Looking to the door, the demon flicks his wrist to miracle it closed before turning his attention again to the crying angel. “You can’t just say things like that.” Shaking his head, he pulls Aziraphale close. “Not out loud, Angel. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

_He’s so good. He’s trying to protect me from myself_. “M’ sorry Crowley. M’ so very sorry. But I can’t hold it in anymore.”

Crowley’s body is warm and he’s holding Aziraphale so close, whispering soothing words into his hair. Aziraphale can no longer make out what’s being said, the world around him has gone a bit hazy, as the heat and alcohol take hold and lull the angel to sleep.

* * *

“Shhhhh, my Angel, don’t be sorry.” Crowley whispers into feather down curls. Aziraphale is so soft, so perfect and everything Crowley has imagined he would be. The cries dissipate into whimpers and then gentle breathing.

Crowley holds him, inhaling the scent of musky cologne and expensive whisky. Aziraphale has apparently spent the entire time Crowley was sleeping getting sloshed. “I love you too, you beautiful, ridiculous, lovely creature, but you can’t go around saying you love me more than Her. Not when other angels are nearby.”

A snore.

Crowley smiles at the soft face pressed against his chest. “Did you hear a single thing I just said?”

Another snore.

“I suppose not, eh?” Crowley rolls onto his back, holding the sleeping angel close so that half of Aziraphale’s upper torso and face are resting on Crowley‘s chest. The demon gently caresses his fingers up and down the angel’s back. “It’s OK. I’ll tell you again in the morning.”

Yes, he’ll ask questions as well. About Gabriel, about why Aziraphale would lie to him for 6000 years, but then drunkenly stumble into a bed with him, confessing his love.

“Was it against your will?” Crowley sifts his free hand through platinum curls. Aziraphale might be a bastard at times, but he’s not a cheat. There isn’t an ounce of dishonor in the principality, Crowley is certain of it.

But Gabriel, well Gabriel’s a different story. The archangel seems possessive and power hungry.

Crowley is struck hard by a realization. “That’s why you were always so afraid.” He holds Aziraphale a little tighter. “For me, for yourself. You didn’t want him, but you couldn’t really tell him no.”

Crowley’s fingers gently trace Aziraphale’s jaw. “I’ll behave, for you, for Jesus.” The demon presses a gentle kiss to soft curls. “For now. But when this is all resolved, I’ll rip his fucking throat out.”

* * *

**August 9, 6:30AM PST**

Jesus hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s paced, slept and thought over his life. He’s made a decision. His entire existence has been to sacrifice, to love, to protect and die for what is right. Gabriel fed him the information from birth, that Jesus is only as good as what he does for others.

So, this choice wasn’t made easily. He wouldn’t be capable of returning to Heaven without trying to find a way to save Crowley and his angel. He would hate himself for the rest of eternity if he allowed something like what is planned for them to happen. But he also can’t endanger the only mother who’s ever loved him.

Jesus knows he’s taking the cowards way out. He isn’t saving Crowley or Aziraphale, and he’s deserting his mother Miriam to an eternity in Heaven without him. His whole life up until now has been a sacrifice, Jesus’ final act will be selfish.

He can feel the air in the room shift as Raphael enters. “Have you made a decision?”

“Destroy me.” Jesus turns from where he stands behind the sofa to face the archangel.

“It won’t be quick and you’ll be destroying yourself.” Raphael tips his head to the side studying him. “You should understand, you’ll suffer painfully and you’ll only be saving your mother.”

“I’m aware.” Jesus nods. “But this way I won’t have to live with the guilt of choosing my mom over my friend.”

“Fair enough.” Raphael waves for Jesus to follow him. With a swipe of his hand, a red door peers in the center of the room. Turning the brass knob, he pushes the door wide revealing a dark corridor with concrete walls. The smell of mildew and rot attack Jesus’ senses. “Come along then.”

“You’re just going to walk into Hell?” Jesus approaches cautiously. “I thought any and all archangels are prohibited.”

“Oh sweetie.” Raphael smirks, his tone teasing. “I haven’t been an archangel for millennia.” His body begins to flux and shift, the long black hair remains but the flush, fair skin turns a sickly white and emerald eyes transform into black pools of midnight ink with no trace of color or white. “Now let’s get you settled. I have a jet to miracle myself back to.”

* * *

**August 10, 9:00AM PST**

Hastur feels just a bit more than uncomfortable, he hasn’t looked like himself these past 28 hours. Vice as Raphael had awoken him, saying he needed to be transformed to his pre-fall visage. By awoke he means, no knock on his door, the former archangel was suddenly looming over the demon’s bed.

“Aziraphale and Crowley will know something’s afoot if they realize Heaven and Hell have teamed up.” Vice glanced to their left and caught sight of the slender figure asleep in the bed. Their eyes go wide, as their face lights up with absolute glee. “What’s this?”

“It’s not what you think.” Hastur growled. “We got drunk and she fell asleep.” The demon stood, pushing his chest against Vice’s. “And you’re not going to tell another goddamn soul about it. Do you understand?”

“The wrath pouring off of you.” Vice’s green eyes sparkled. “It feels nice.” Waving their hand dismissively. “No worries, whatever is happening here is no business of mine.”

Vice had left soon after and Hastur had collapsed, angry and frightened, onto the bed. What fucking right did they have barging into his room?

He woke Michael. She had apologized profusely for putting him in such a situation, and they hadn’t seen one another since.

But now as the golden Halriel, Hastur bravely knocks on the door of suite 702. Within seconds he hears the deadbolt click and the door opens to reveal a wide-eyed archangel.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you like this.” Michael looks him over, her hand raising to cover her open mouth.

“Yeah.” He looks down at his body, lifting his arms slightly then dropping them to his sides. “It’s an improvement I know.” He catches her eyes. “Anybody said anything to you about yesterday?”

“No.” Concern evident in her gray eyes. “You?”

“Nuh-Uh.” He shakes his head. “Think we’re OK. Everybody’s gathered downstairs in the conference hall to discuss what to do when they arrive. I volunteered to come get and escort you down.”

“How very polite of you.” A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“Shut it.” He steps back to allow her to enter the hallway and lock her door. Once finished the duo turn, walking silently to the lift.

“I wanted to say thank you again for making him so happy.” Hastur gestures for her to enter the lift first. “I’m sorry I let my jealousy put a strain on your relationship.”

“Forgiven.” Michael places her hand on his bicep as the metal door closes. “It couldn’t have been easy for you. Thank you for keeping him safe and sane when he and I were stuck apart.”

“But I didn’t, did I?” He covers Michael’s hand with his own.

“You did.” Michael moves to face him. “You couldn’t have anticipated what Crowley planned to do that day.”

“No?” He suddenly wants to cry so very badly. “We threatened him and the being he loves. Would you or I have done any less to protect Ligur?”

Michael pulls her hands away. Pressing her palms against her thighs, she shakes her head slowly while stepping back.

“Ya wanna know the kicker?” Hastur clears his throat, certain he’s about to burn every bridge he and Michael recently built. “I pushed him to go after Crowley out of jealousy. I was so fucking sick of demons and their angels.” He turns away from the horrified look on the archangel’s face. “I couldn’t hurt you, without hurting Ligur and I could never hurt him. Instead, I decided to take out my pain on Crowley and Aziraphale.”

“I’m the one who called.” Michael says softly, her face twisted with pain and remorse. “I instigated that day’s events.”

“Guess we’re both to blame then.” He tilts his head to the side. “But what was your reasoning? Whole scenario makes you seem a bit hypocritical.”

“Gabriel’s like my brother, and he wants Aziraphale.” Michael says, as if it should have been obvious.

“What would you have thought of me, if I had bullied and manipulated Ligur into being with me?” Hastur has been thinking about this a lot over the past 24 hours. Since the night he’d spent talking out his feeling with Michael. “And then tried to get you murdered in the process?”

Michael pales, her eyes widening in horror. “Oh my God.”

“Smite me now if you think I’m wrong.” Hastur braces himself in case that’s what’s to come. “But I think there are some wrongs we need to put right.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some confessions are made, but it’s just the calm before the storm. What happiness they find won’t last long.

**August 10, 9:45AM**

Aziraphale winces, it feels as if the cast of Stomp is performing in his skull. Without opening his eyes he places his hands on the crown of his head, miracling away his hangover and any remaining alcohol in his bloodstream.

Sighing at the lovely release from pain, the angel burrows his face into his pillow. His very hard pillow? That is rising and falling?

“Oh God.” Aziraphale’s eyes spring open and he remembers his mortifying drunk confession. To his further embarrassment, the angel realizes he has been drooling on Crowley’s black Henley. “At least I can fix this.”

With a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, the dark fabric dries, and a smirk pulls at the corner of the demon’s mouth.

“Wasn’t bothering me, thought it was kind of cute.” Serpentine eyes open and, to Aziraphale’s perception, light up the room. “Good morning Angel.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me Crowley.” Aziraphale pushes himself off the demon and the bed. “I know you don’t appreciate being referred to as kind, but I can’t think of a better way to put it.”

“That was all a show for Hell, Aziraphale.” Crowley attempts to untangle himself from the sheets and fails. “I know I’m not evil. Mischievous, charming, and reckless maybe, but not evil.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Bad boy with a heart of gold’s considered sexy, innit?”

“You’re not making this easier Crowley.” Aziraphale’s fingers fidget with the hem of his waistcoat. “You should have a bit more compassion if you’re going to tease. I’m embarrassed enough, I know how foolish my words were.”

“You regret telling me?” Crowley’s eyes seem to moisten, causing them to shimmer beautifully. “That you love me?”

“I do.” Aziraphale closes his eyes, fighting to contain his tears. “It was a mistake. I know your happiness is elsewhere.”

“Angel?” Crowley’s face relaxes. “Are you still under the impression I want Jesus?”

“Well yes. Don’t you?” Aziraphale freezes in place. Seconds before he had been falling deeper and deeper into an emotional pit of darkness. Now with a single sentence he’s been given a pin prick of light.

“No, Angel, I don’t.” Crowley says gently. He finally untangles his legs from the bedding and stands. “You got my words all backwards.”

“Who?” Aziraphale swallows with difficulty, he’s having a bit of trouble breathing, not that he needs to, but it’s the principle of the thing. Crowley is so beautiful and stepping closer. “Who do you want?”

“Who do you think?” They’re toe-to-toe. Crowley places his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and slides it down the length of the angel’s arm until he reaches a plump hand. Crowley’s eyes follow the movement, until he locks fingers with Aziraphale’s and smiles sweetly at the sight. Looking up again to meet the angel’s eyes he seems to await an answer.

“What about loving me like a brother?” Aziraphale is trapped in the golden gaze.

“Wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Jesus.” Crowley’s voice is low and husky. He brings his free hand to cup Aziraphale’s face.

“So the love of your life?” The blond can feel the quiver in his own words. He’s anxious, excited and the most joyful he’s ever been in his entire existence. He’s hoping upon hope he does not swoon.

Crowley’s lips are ever so close, not touching, but near enough that the two entities are sharing the same breath. “You, Aziraphale. It’s always been you.”

Aziraphale closes his eyes and parts his lips, waiting to feel the soft brush of Crowley’s against his own. Instead, the door flies open wildly, light filling the room and a very excited archangel begins speaking.

Loudly.

The couple jolt apart in surprise.

“Good morning!” Raphael claps his hands together. “We have less than 15 minutes until touchdown, so come out. Have breakfast.” He glances to Aziraphale. “I know you want to.”

“Can you give us a moment?” Crowley grits his teeth. “Please?”

“You can take all the time _you_ need.” Raphael waves Crowley away while stepping further into the room, and very rudely placing himself between Aziraphale and his demon. The archangel drapes an arm across the principality’s shoulders. “As long as it’s less than 15 minutes. I only need my coworker right now.”

“Anything you need to tell me, Crowley can hear as well.” Aziraphale, feeling rather bold thank you very much, takes Crowley’s hand back into his own and steps away from Raphael’s hold.

“Can I give you some serious advice before we land?” Raphael stiffens, his hands clasp behind his back. “Do not defy the archangels. I’m sure you remember the consequences of last year.”

“Are you threatening us?” Aziraphale takes a single step forward, placing his body between the archangel and Crowley.

“No.” Raphael shakes his head, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m warning you. You’re going to be surrounded by angels, the two of you kept separate for ‘safety reasons’.” Raphael lifts his hands flashing air quotes. “Together you’re considered too dangerous. Which means Crowley will be alone with angels, who will have no qualms about smiting him at a moment’s notice.” He points to Aziraphale. “While you will stay largely in the company of the archangels.”

“This is not what you discussed with me when we met at my bookshop.” Aziraphale shakes his head, the flush of his anger creeping up his chest and face. “If you had, I would have never agreed to any of this.”

“You would’ve left Crowley’s good friend, God‘s very son, to whatever horrible fate he might now be facing? For your own selfish comfort?” Raphael places his hand over his heart in an over dramatic display of shock while making a ticking noise with his tongue. “That’s not very angelic Aziraphale. Sort of like your comment from a few hours ago.”

“My, my comment from a few hours ago?” Aziraphale glances behind him to Crowley for some inkling of what he might have said.

The demon’s mouth is agape, eyes wide as he pulls Aziraphale closer. “He didn’t mean that. He was drunk and overly emotional.”

“I’m not sure Gabriel would see it that way.” Raphael isn’t smiling, but he isn’t frowning either. His countenance is one of curiosity.

Crowley growls low in the back of his throat, now pulling Aziraphale behind himself. “Fuck Gabriel.”

“You both need to calm down.” Raphael puts his hands up in surrender. “I swear to the Almighty, may I Fall if I’m lying, I am not attacking you or threatening you. I’m merely trying to prepare you.” He looks about as if trying to find his next words in the air around them. “I’m not good at speaking to others. I’m trying to be funny, lighten the mood, but I just make things worse.” Running both hands through his long hair. “But you both do need to take orders and come off as submissive if you want any hope of surviving this mission.” Raphael stares hard at Aziraphale. “And you most definitely should not say you love anyone or anything more than Her out loud.”

_Oh, yes. I remember that now._

“He won’t. Right Angel?” Crowley turns his back to Raphael, now fully facing Aziraphale. His sclera completely engulfed as he pushes his point home. “Right Angel?”

“Right.” Aziraphale runs his thumb across Crowley’s knuckles, before releasing the demon’s hand. He leans close to whisper in Crowley‘s ear. “Although I meant every word, remember that.”

Aziraphale reluctantly moves from Crowley to Raphael. “Will I not be seeing him at all during any of this?”

“You’ll see one another during briefing meetings, and it will be the two of you they send in to retrieve Jesus.” Raphael shrugs. “Heaven believes you both have the best rapport with the man.”

“But the rest of the time we’ll be separated?” Crowley’s hands twitch, as if fighting the urge to reach for Aziraphale.

“Yes.” Raphael shakes his head, ironically. “I’m sorry. It was a majority decision. They’re afraid of you.”

“When this is over, will they freely let us go?” Aziraphale’s question is directed to Raphael, but his gaze remains locked on Crowley.

Raphael pats him on the shoulder. “You have my word as an archangel. May God cause me to Fall if it’s a lie.”

* * *

The smell hits Michael before she sees him. “Pestilence.”

“So all of Heaven is on board with this?” Hastur keeps his voice low, lips barely moving as they hide in the hallway outside the conference hall.

“Yes.” Michael follows his lead, making their conversation as inconspicuous as possible. “All those lower than archangel status are brainwashed soldiers. They’ll do anything Gabriel asks, without question, they always have. Except Aziraphale, we never could get him to do what he was told.”

“I know why Crowley likes him then.” Hastur allows himself just the lightest touch of his fingers on Michael’s elbow. “Find me later, your majesty.”

Michael waits as he rounds the doorway then follows soon after, each taking a seat at a large oval table. Michael sets along one of the curved sides. To her immediate right, at the very tip of the oval, sets Gabriel. Hastur, being the highest-ranking demon in attendance, places himself at the other end opposite him. Michael’s side is the three remaining archangels. The other, a row of demons. Pacing or standing against each wall of the stark white room, a Horseperson.

Michael can feel the prickle on her neck, from the vacant stare behind her. Death is hovering over her shoulder, standing as still as a statue.

Famine is as calm and unmoving as Death, from his station behind Gabriel. War is to the back of Hastur, smiling maliciously and flipping a dagger in her hand. Pestilence stalks like a caged animal behind the demons. Michael forces herself to keep her eyes on Gabriel, rather the opposite end of the table.

“How long until we can wipe this set off the map?” Gabriel glances to each of the Horsepersons.

“Famine and I should have three countries fully in Death’s hands by this time next year.” War throws him a coy smile, the flash of a blade continuing to twirl in her fingers.

“Too slow.” Gabriel leans back in his chair. “I want humanity itself gone within the next 24 months.”

“If Vice continues to stir up their pride and greed, I can have them in the next year.” Pestilence stops pacing to loom over a lower level demon. Michael thinks she remembers someone calling him Eric.

“But if we do this too quickly, God is going to notice.” Uriel states calmly. She sets two seats to Michael’s left, with Sandalphon between them. “Does no one fear Her retribution?”

“What retribution is that exactly?” Gabriel throws his arms out to his sides. “She lost interest in us 6024 years ago. For all we know She has thousands of projects just like this one, with their own humans, angels and demons.”

“That’s borderline blasphemous.” Sandalphon snips, the side of his nose and lip curling in disgust.

“Is it?’ Gabriel slams his hands palm down on the table. “Because every rule, every plan, that you‘ve followed since the beginning has been mine! Her last order of business was the Fall, everything thereafter has been me!” His voice slowly raises in volume as he continues. “I have the same power ranking as Satan, I am his mirror opposite, not Her! And anyone under my command best remember that!” Gabriel’s violet eyes glow menacingly, his voice lowers to dangerous snarl. “Because I can do so much worse than make you Fall.”

The sneer drops from Sandalphon’s face, he hunkers lower in the chair, a feeble attempt to take up less space. Uriel doesn’t speak, but her cold stern, stare never diverts from Gabriel‘s. No fear, no trembling, just a silent, stoic gaze.

Michael uses the excuse of looking at Uriel to chance a glance at Hastur. His chin is tilted up proudly. His eyes, a soft mauve rather than the black of his demonic form, look directly to Gabriel. His is a bearing of fierceness but could be interpreted as professional respect.

“Does anyone else have anything to add?” Gabriel stands, pulling on his cuffs and smoothing out his jacket. He looks to each face waiting for any sort of retort. When he realizes none are coming, he smiles his signature corporate smile. “Good. Any demon not already shifted, please resign yourselves to the second-floor until Vice can get you fixed up.” He pushes his chair in neatly and rubs his hands together. “The rest of you, chop, chop. We’ve some guests to greet.”

* * *

**10:06AM**

The tarmac is adjacent to the large 20 story hotel. All architecture or machinery created by Celestial Constructions can take on the features and properties wished for by the angel in charge. That angel is and always has been Gabriel.

Raphael exits the jet first, followed by Seraphina, Eremiel, Aziraphale and then Crowley. The demon’s hand rests on Aziraphale’s shoulder as they descend the narrow, metal stairs. The contact is light, but comforting, and more than anything it’s a promise.

_I know this thing between us was stopped just as it was finally starting. But I swear to you, when we get through this, and we will, I’ll make sure it grows into something magnificent. Something you deserve._

Crowley’s heart stutters when Aziraphale turns his head, the demon briefly blinded by a sunshine smile, and glimmering blue eyes. Crowley leans forward to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. “No matter what we’re told, or what nonsense we get stuck dealing with, I love you Angel.”

“We’ll get your friend back too.” Aziraphale nods. “I promise you dear.”

Crowley squeezes the angel’s shoulder one last time, before relinquishing the contact. As their shoes make contact with the asphalt, Raphael places a hand on Aziraphale’s elbow. Seraphina and Eremiel flank Crowley.

Despite the comfort Raphael has attempted to spew in his speeches, Crowley can’t help feeling like a prisoner being led to his sentencing. And he most certainly is not comfortable with the grip the archangel currently has on Aziraphale.

_If any of you fuckers so much as look at him funny...._

“Crowley, you are to remain predominately under the watchful gaze of Seraphina and Eremiel.” Raphael interrupts Crowley’s thought. He smiles sweeping his hands towards Crowley and the two angels blocking him in. “Along with Halriel and Michael.”

Aziraphale pulls his arm away from Raphael. “I don’t know if I want Michael watching over Crowley. Isn’t she the one who personally delivered the holy water to his failed execution?’

“Yes, but she understands what is expected of her in this mission. The son of God is more important than any old grudges.” Raphael’s hand hovers over Aziraphale’s back, before he seems to change his mind, allowing the hand to drop away. “Besides, it is a direct order from Gabriel, that no one is to harm the demon Crowley, and Michael has never disobeyed Gabriel.”

“Gabriel gave orders to protect Crowley?” Aziraphale stammers, his back now ramrod straight, a strange mix of suspicion and relief on his gentle face. “Well, that is delightful news, but so out of character.’

Crowley catches his gaze, finding some comfort in the fact that his angel is less afraid. It doesn’t last long.

“Gabriel has been trying to better himself lately.” Raphael taps his index finger against his lip twice, before redirecting the digit to point at Aziraphale. “Especially after the last conversation he had with you. I don’t know exactly what you said, but it really opened his eyes. Gabriel personally informed me, that even if you never reciprocate his feelings, he hopes to become a being you choose to respect, and can perhaps learn to think upon as a friend.”

“I believe that when I see it.” Crowley doesn’t even try to hide the contempt in his voice.

“Same here.” The principality holds Crowley’s gaze long enough to convey his own trepidation.

“Well, he should have plenty of time to persuade you, as you will be under his direct supervision, Aziraphale.” They’ve reached the building. Raphael holds the ornate glass doors for the other four to enter.

“I’ll what?” Aziraphale comes to an abrupt halt in the air-conditioned lobby. The hotel is huge, all wood and gold lining, it puts the Ritz to shame. “Alone?”

_I was right!_ Crowley seethes, his suspicions confirmed. Gabriel has been harassing his angel from millennia. Punishing him for not reciprocating. He can see it in the way his Angel stiffened with fear at the thought of being alone the archangel.

“Oh, no, no.” Raphael holds a tight frown, but the glint in his eyes makes Crowley nauseous. “Well, not unless you want to be.”

“I most certainly do not want to be!” Aziraphale yells, causing a group of angels near the front desk to turn in his direction. Blinking he collects himself and lowers his voice to a normal tone. “I would prefer to not be left alone with my former boss.”

_Boss._ Crowley thinks, shooting a glare at Raphael _. Not betrothed, not lover, boss._

“In that case.” Raphael clears his throat, seemingly uncomfortable under Crowley’s gaze, as he hurries their group onto the lift. “You can also call upon Sandalphon and Uriel.” The lift doors shut behind them. “And I will alternate back-and-forth between the two of you.”

Crowley reaches to Aziraphale, and thankfully no one stops him. He takes each of the angel’s hands in his and studies his face. “Are you gonna be alright, Angel? Because we can leave right now if you want.”

The muscles in Aziraphale’s face remain strained, but the sweet being smiles ever so fondly nonetheless. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“This is us.” Seraphina says as the lift dings and the metal doors open. She takes Crowley by the bicep and she and Eremiel pull him into the hall. His eyes never leave the deep blue of Aziraphale’s until the door closes between them.

_Oh, Satan. What have we gotten ourselves into?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus’ most beloved past relationship is looked into briefly. Crowley and Aziraphale deal with being separated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt uncomfortable referring to certain characters by names they would have never gone by in their actual lifetimes. So, I looked up the Aramaic versions of their names, since that was the language Yeshua and his family spoke at the time. Hoping I got them correct.
> 
> You can also see I took some liberties with when Jesus and John the Beloved meet the first time. The Bible lists them talking as adults, but there’s no reason they couldn’t have met sooner. Also, if anyone is uncomfortable with the rather popular idea these two were in love, you might want to step away.
> 
> More than anything all of your all’s comfort and happiness is my foremost concern. To those staying, hope you enjoy ❤️

**A place where the time is always too late**

_Yeshua looks up to the large walls of the city looming ahead. One would think he would enjoy this time of year, but he doesn’t. For the entire 12 years of his life, he’s been drug along as his mother and stepfather make the required sacrifices to his Mother._

_He isn’t to speak of Her, not in public, not yet. Gabriel says he has to wait for the appointed time._

_In the privacy of his own home he can speak vaguely of Her, but not in the way he thinks She’d most prefer. The leaders have become dead set on the idea that She is actually a He. As has his stepfather Yusuf._

_Yusuf is a kind man for his time, halting Miriam’s execution, which the authorities had ordered due to her becoming pregnant out of wedlock with a child that was not her betrothed’s._

_He has, however, become verbally aggressive in the past at the idea his wife was not only intimate with a woman, but had become pregnant with Her child more easily than she could any of his. He could handle raising God’s son, but only if that God is a man. No amount of reasonable explanation could convince his closed mind that gender doesn’t exactly work as simply as he believes, not for God or anyone._

_The family enter the gates of Jerusalem, and the city is abuzz with activity. As Yusuf hurries them along, Yeshua falls back distracted by the sounds of the people. And especially one person in particular._

_He is a tall, skinny boy near Yeshua’s age, with deep brown eyes and hair the color of night. As if being pulled by a magnetic force, Yeshua soon finds himself standing near the stunning boy._

_“Yeshua.” He offers, smiling at his newfound companion. “What’s your name?”_

_“Yochanan.” The taller boy smiles in return._

_“I have a cousin named Yochanan.” Yeshua puffs his chest out. “He’s seven months older than me. We’re both very special.”_

_“My mother says all children are special.” Yochanan shrugs._

_“They are, but my cousin and I are extremely special.” Yeshua doesn’t yet understand this urge to impress his new friend, but feels it is vital. It will be years later that he will better understand this moment. “God Her-...um Himself says so.”_

_“God?” Yochanan’s dark eyes look upon him with intense interest, and Yeshua finds that he very much wants Yochanan to find him interesting._

_“Uh-hum. My cousin Yochanan is going to baptize people, and help spread my message.” Yeshua can’t stop staring at the deep pools of this Yochanan’s eyes, or how his raven hair glints in the sunlight. “Because I’m God’s son.”_

_The smile falls from Yochanan’s face. There’s a brief moment of fear that the boy will run from him. Instead he grasps the biceps of the demigods arm. “You can’t go around saying things like that, people will kill you.”_

_“I know.” Yeshua nods. “My destiny is to die, the Archangel Gabriel told me all about it. I also know the entire Torah because he somehow put it there.” Yeshua taps his index finger against his temple._

_“Your destiny is to die?” The lanky boy scratches his head and takes a step away. If he were older, he’d realize everyone is destined to die, but it isn’t something that occurs to you at 13. “Why do you need to die?”_

_“I’m meant to sacrifice myself for the good of mankind.” Yeshua turns his head to his left and noticed a group of scholarly men conversing in the temple. “Not to worry though. Gabriel says they’ll resurrect me after three days. Come on, I’ll prove it.”_

_Yeshua takes Yochanan’s hand and leads him into the temple._

Jesus‘ face is pulled free of the deep crimson sludge. It drips from his nose and slides down his neck as he coughs a great deal of it from his lungs.

Jesus was unsure what to expect of Tartarus but it definitely wasn’t this. Instead of blood, biting, clawing and limbs being ripped from torsos, it is instead psychological torture. Being the most refined of the circles of Hell, here your ultimate destruction is left to you.

Vice had tossed him into the circular room.....hours ago? Maybe days? It’s difficult to say, time no longer exist this far into the pit.

Jesus had turned to face the Lord of Hell, who had laughed, pleased at seeing him on all fours. Looming over the half god, the demon proceeded to tell Jesus the rules of his impending destruction.

“One, the only way out of here is to be released by high-ranking demon of Hell.” Vice smiled broadly as if to say _we both know that isn’t going to happen._

“Two, you’re about to face every wrong, every hurt you’ve ever caused anyone.” The demon gestured to a large tank of crimson liquid in the center of the room. The contents resembling coagulated blood and smelled of rot.

“Three, you get to decide when this is over.” They pointed to the silver dagger beside the basin. It’s hilt is as dark red as the liquid contained beside it. “That’s the Dagger of Desolation.” Vice rolled their eyes. “I know the name doesn’t sound all that impressive, but it’s a good description of what it does. Once you’ve had enough of the memories, drive that through your heart and end your existence completely. We’ll have you wishing you’d never been born, and with that dagger you can make it like you never were.”

Balog had stepped into the cold stone room as Vice had stepped out. She currently has Jesus by the hair, holding only his head above the thick liquid. His feet kick beneath him, the vat too deep for them to find purchase.

“That was a good memory.” He fights to keep from crying out as the fingers twist and pull harshly at the plasma soaked locks. “Seems you’re bad at your job.”

“Might be a good memory for you.” Balog hisses in his ear. “But do you know how it all ultimately ended for him? For all those who chose to not just follow, but also love you?”

The sickening red slime sputters from Jesus‘ lips as he answers. “No.”

“Then I think it’s time we have a look.” She submerges his head into the rotting filth once again.

* * *

Aziraphale felt his stomach roll as the door of the lift slowly shut. Even through the dark lenses of the sunglasses, he could see the apprehension and fear on Crowley‘s face. None of this is going the way it had been promised, and Aziraphale had nearly accepted Crowley’s offer to leave before remembering why they are here. Besides, they’re too far in now to back out safely.

“You need to be careful how much you trust him.” Raphael moves to the other side of the lift.

“I trust him with my life.” Aziraphale is grateful for the space, but angry and apprehensive as to what the archangel is insinuating. “I’ve heard more than my fair share of that ‘demon’s can’t love’ and ‘he’s only trying to corrupt you’ nonsense for several lifetimes. I’m here to tell you, actions speak louder than words.” Aziraphale juts out his chin, pointing accusingly at Raphael. “And from my experience, Heaven is nothing but empty words and Crowley is a fount of loving, committed actions.”

“Yeah, he does like to spread love.” Raphael’s words drip with sarcasm. Aziraphale shifts his body, facing his side to the other angel, watching him from the corner of his eye. He hates the smug quirk of Raphael’s lip. “You’re not the only one.”

Aziraphale rolls his lower lip, biting back the stab of jealousy before responding. “It would be foolish of me to think he’s never been physical with humans. Hell has undoubtedly had him on many assignments he couldn’t safely refuse.” Steeling himself, he turns his head to look at Raphael dead on. “But we are free now, and I trust him when he says that it has only ever been me that he freely wants and loves.”

“On your own side, right?” Raphael doesn’t seem deterred by Aziraphale’s vexed glare in the slightest. “Asked you to run away with him? Falls over himself to give you things, play your hero, your knight in scaly armor?”

“Well, err.” Aziraphale falters. Where is Raphael going with this? “Yes, that’s very much my point. He’s the only being to have ever stood by me in such a fashion.”

“But are you certain that you’re the only being he stands by?” Raphael is literally biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, a smile pulling dangerously at his face. Aziraphale’s not sure he’s ever wanted to punch anyone as badly as he does this archangel. Well except maybe Gabriel.

“I am.” Aziraphale balls his fists at his sides. “And I’ll tell you, I don’t care and inkling for your callous, sarcastic attitude.”

“Do you have any idea how many other angels with which he’s propositioned to form an _Arrangement_?”

“Uhmmm, w-well.” Aziraphale stammers, his jaw flapping uselessly up and down as he searches for words.

“Roughly eight hundred.” Raphael cuts him off with authority. “In 6024 years, he has approached every single celestial being he has encountered with the same offer. Six hundred and twenty eight have been asked to run away with him. All after multiple heroic rescues to show how ‘ _He’s not like other demons_.’” Raphael’s face contorts in a malicious sneer. “Telling them all they could be their own side, he would save them from Heaven and he’d escape Hell. All while pursuing anything remotely attractive that might breathe in his direction.”

The lift dings for the seventh floor, and Aziraphale stumbles out. The ride seemed to take much longer than was needed. He’s certain Raphael had something to do with that.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I am done listening to your drivel.” Aziraphale holds out his hand as he exits the lift. “Now, give me my key card and direct me to my room. I’d like to freshen up before I receive my schedule.”

“Room 710.” Raphael hands him the thin piece of plastic. “Your neighbor will be over to get you in 30 minutes. Tell him I said hi.”

* * *

Seraphina and Eremiel had escorted Crowley to room 328 and informed him to stay put until their returns.

He’s never been good at following orders.

This is why he is currently wandering along the hallway outside of his room. He doesn’t dare leave his floor. Since there’s no threat of immediate danger to himself or Aziraphale he doesn’t want the angels to think him too suspicious. If Heaven is on the up and up about this, he wouldn’t wish to draw their ire or give them reason to bring wrath on him or his Angel. But he also can’t fight his nature, so a bit of curiosity about his immediate surroundings shouldn’t hurt much.

This level seems vacant aside from himself, which is and isn’t surprising. Crowley didn’t expect to be surrounded by the host, assuming they’d most likely see him as a threat to the mind control Heaven has over the other angel’s thanks to his current fame. He _was_ , however, expecting armed guards or, in the least, a babysitter of sorts.

Crowley comes to the end of the long hallway. Before him is a window through which he observes a milky haze of clouds, and beyond that the scene shifts periodically to the skylines of some major and minor US cities. First is downtown Manhattan, followed by Brooklyn, Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles, and some areas with less recognizable landmarks. The scene stays on each for a minute or two, before turning in a slow clockwise motion and showing the next.

He is deep in thought, attempting to decipher where the long strip of restaurants and bars before him might be located. Because of this, he doesn’t hear the angel step up behind him.

“Crowley.“ She says softly. Crowley stiffens, a shock of fear sizzling down his spine. He knows that voice, every demon knows that voice. It belongs to the most fearsome of Her army, the only archangel known to have struck down Lucifer himself.

“Michael.“ Crowley, collecting his nerves, manipulates his features, he hopes, to show sarcastic coolness. Turning to face her, he points his thumb over his shoulder. “Just enjoying the view.“

“Why are you out of your room?” Michael’s lips close tightly in a thin line, she keeps her chin held high. Her eyes glance questioningly over his face and in her hands she holds a small notepad.

“Am I not supposed to be?“ He tries to play innocent, not that any angel would believe a demon to be innocent. Well except for one angel, but he’s being kept on another floor entirely.

“No it’s fine.“ She glances quickly behind her, then taps an index finger against the paper in her hand. “As long as you keep yourself confined to this floor.“

Michael flips the notepad around, holding it tightly to her chest. In large print it reads: **“Don’t react to this, they’re listening and have cameras outside each door.”**

Crowley looks from the notepad to Michael and back again. Repeating the act multiple times, mouth moving from open to close, resembling a fish gasping for breath out of water.

If this is a trick, he should say something. What if Heaven is testing their loyalties? But if they are, this is a ridiculous game they’re playing. And of all things Michael is, ridiculous isn’t one of them.

In his confused state, Crowley decides to roll with it. Regaining control of his jaw and making sure they’re far from all doorways, he silently mouths. “ _Who?_ ”

Michael waves her hand across the paper and the writing disappears. She once again flicks her finger on the page, this time causing it to read: **“Heaven and Hell. There’s no audio or visual in the rooms.”**

Out loud she says. “Actually, it might be more acceptable if you remain in your room until we’ve had time to properly brief you on the rules.”

Another wave and tap on the notepad: **“Discuss this with no one but Halriel and myself.”**

“Um, sure. Don’t want to cause any problems.” _Who the fuck is Halriel?_ He follows her back along the hallway to his room.

_It’s a trap you idiot!_ His inner dialogue admonishes. _Of all the blessed archangels to trust, she’s as bad as Gabriel!_

Crowley shakes himself, warring with his own mind. None of this makes any bloody sense. He hasn’t trusted a single motive of any currently employed angels since meeting Raphael. Yet, here he is dutifully following Michael, of all celestial beings, to a room alone.

I can’t risk making trouble for Aziraphale or Jesus. He answers his own fearful consciousness. I’m here to rescue the one, and I’ll do anything these bastards want to keep the other safe.

Michael pauses to the side of his room’s entryway, while Crowley uses his key card to allow them inside. He swivels his head towards her as the door swings inward.

“We’ve been waiting for you.“ Eremiel waits just beyond the entrance. Their sudden appearance causing Crowley to yelp in an embarrassingly undemonic fashion, and Michael to hurriedly miracle away her notepad. “I thought I told you to stay put.”

“He never left this hallway.“ Michael assures them Crowley hates to admit it, but he’s impressed at how quickly she collects yourself. “I informed him it was acceptable to patter about as long as he stayed on this floor.“

“Well, it’s not.” Eremiel looks Crowley over, lip twitching, as if he were an especially foul smelling pile of dog shit. “You can’t trust him. Whatever small amount of freedom you give him, he’ll push for more and more, until he’s out of your control completely. Best to keep one like him confined.“

“We met before the flight?“ Something in Eremiel’s speech pattern and look seems oddly recognizable in this moment. Crowley just can’t put his finger on it. “Because you seem to assume an awful, fucking lot about me.“

They grit their teeth and step aside. “I’ve read the reports. You’re famous, for such a worthless git.“ The words almost buzzing past their clenched teeth. “Won’t you come inside?“

Crowley, feeling more caged in than he would like, forces his legs to push him into the room. The scene before him does nothing to dissipate his notion of entrapment. There is Seraphina and an unknown, blond angel awaiting on the bed.

For the first time in his existence Crowley secretly wishes he spent more time before the Fall with angels besides the other star-makers. Might make it easier to read the room in moments like this. Part of him wonders what happened to his former colleagues. He and Lucifer were the only star-makers to fall, so he thought he might have been greeted by at least one familiar face on this mission. Perhaps God still has the others busy creating new celestial bodies, since so many of the older ones have been blinking out of over the past several centuries.

“That’s not very polite.“ Crowley tries to appear defiant, hoping the fear welling inside isn’t evident. “Not a proper way to treat a guest at all.“

“He’s correct, Eremiel.” The blond angel states glibly, his eyes follow Crowley as he makes his way across the room. “We shouldn’t insult him, he’s here to help.”

Crowley holds the angel’s gaze, as he settles himself into the arm chair in the corner of the room. He doesn’t trust to have his back to any of them, especially not Michael and her weird secret agent farce. “So what’s my schedule for today? And when will I see Aziraphale again?”

“We have a debriefing meeting this evening.“ Eremiel settles themself between Seraphina and the blond. “You’ll see him then.”

“Gabriel claims to know where Jesus is.“ Michael says in her typical ‘business as usual’ fashion. She closes the door and leans against the heavy wood of it, arms crossed over her chest. “He wants to discuss the extraction plan with you and the principality“

“Until then, you’ll remain here with me.“ Seraphina pulls her leg on the bed so that she can turn to face Crowley better. “We don’t need you wandering the halls again, much too dangerous.“

“If we are forced to be confined to our rooms for hours on end, why can’t I spend that time confined with Aziraphale?” Crowley can’t help but try. With all he’s learned today of his Angel’s former treatment by his superiors, of how Aziraphale has been verbally and, Satan forbid, possibly physically abused by this lot, he would feel much better having the being he loves close by. “I swear to Lucifer himself, we won’t try anything. Jesus is my friend, and I love Aziraphale. I’d never risk jeopardizing either of them for my own selfish wiles.“

“Your oath’s are empty and mean nothing here.“ Eremiel snaps. But then a much too toothy smile spreads across their face. “Besides, your little pet will have plenty of willing company in your absence.“

* * *

Vice waits as Aziraphale enters room 710 and the lock clicks behind him. They throw up a quick alarm over the entranceway, it won’t hold the principality in, but it will alert Vice if he attempts to leave the room.

Smiling at their work, the demon steps to the next door to the right, rapping against the barrier quietly. Seconds later Gabriel opens up and ushers them inside.

“Is he here?“ His violet eyes flash with excitement, as he smooths his hands across the top of his trousers.

“He is.” Vice settles themself on the bed. “Did you watch all the earth surveillance videos I accumulated?“

“Yes.“ Gabriel flinches, pacing to and fro in front of the Lord of Hell. “As disgusting as it all was to see, I studied them closely.“

“It’s important to act in such a manner.“ Vice doesn’t move their head, allowing only their eyes to follow the movement of the agitated being before them. “Not forever, just until you have him where you want him.“

“Yes, yes I get it.“ Gabriel waves his hand in Vice’s direction. “Be humble, helpful, acts of service.” With an exasperated sigh. “Cater to his every whim.“

“Exactly.“ Vice feeds on the energy pouring from the archangel. The fool has no clue he carries all seven sins for that one chubby former cherub. “You won’t need to keep up the act forever. Just until all his other options are taken away. Then there’ll be no escaping you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to fall apart

_Yeshua arrived back in Galilee, just off his and Crawly's time in the desert. He was now to begin his work, the first order of which was to bring together a group of twelve followers. Yeshua had no clue why the number needed to be twelve, only that Gabriel insisted it was extremely important._

_He also knew this was the beginning of the end, and the thought was beyond terrifying. He was momentarily comforted by the usual spark of divinity which would almost always flash on the outskirts of his meetings with Crawly. Not Gabriel, no someone softer, more loving. Yeshua could easily feel the differences between the archangel's and the principality's energies, they were differences in smell and intent. Gabriel smelled of lilacs and felt of lightning and power, Aziraphale like vanilla and love, with a tinge of anxiety._

_Yeshua sometimes had wondered if he should tell Crawly that her angel was already aware of their friendship. Instead he decided that might be an overstepping of his bounds. Obviously Aziraphale had his reasons to remain cloaked until Crawly's departure, and Yeshua didn't want to cause friction in whatever budding relationship was forming between the two. They cared for one another so very deeply, yet had so many things to work through before they could admit this fact. Yeshua would be remiss if he stalled their projection toward one another or was the catalyst that drove them apart entirely._

_Besides, he had someone else, more precious to him than Crawly to call upon. If he was to accumulate followers, there was one man in particular he would want by his side before any others._

_In the past twenty-three years Yeshua and Yochanan had become exceptionally close. After their first meeting, when they had vanished from their families to be found three days later in the temple, both had been drug home by upset and worried parents. Yeshua was certain he'd never see the beautiful boy again, but two weeks later they were together standing along the shore._

_Yusuf was delivering a rather lovely decorative table to a fisherman he had met in Jerusalem and Yeshua was ordered along to assist. As luck would have it, that fisherman was Zebedee, Yochanan's father. Yusuf and he had struck up a business relationship while searching for the wayward boys._

_Aware that the other lived in walking distance, the pair became inseparable. They avoided any more actions that might bring about their parents' wrath, and over time they were trusted to go off together alone._

_Yeshua had always felt a tension between them. Not a bad tension, mind you, but an unspoken want and affection that they knew must remain hidden. But the heart is more powerful than any other organ of the body, and love can't be crushed by society and status quo. Meaning for the past 5 years, Yeshua and Yochanan had been fully open with their love for each other when they are alone._

_It had been a gorgeous night, and both men had completed the work required of them for their family trades. While the rest of Galilee slept, Yeshua and Yochanan found themselves in a tangle of bodies and lips. They made love that first time under the stars along an isolated patch of shore, and vowed to always be this for the other, to forever be each other's beloved._

_Of course they couldn't risk meeting every night, but the nights they could became the most important moments in Yeshua's short life._

_It had been only a few days after they had openly professed their love that Yochanan had expressed his jealousy of Crawly. Yeshua quickly squashed those fears by explaining Crawly's situation to him in full. Yochanan not only understood, but expressed a deep sympathy for the demon who had fallen in love with a creature she is forbidden to love. Her situation was much too much like their own._

_Yeshua had the privilege of introducing them once. During that meet, his lovely, kind Yochanan had comforted and advised Crawly in regards to her situation._

_"You should tell him." Yochanan had placed a hand on the demon's slender arm. "Even if your love must remain hidden from Heaven and Hell, at least it will grow strong between the two of you in your angel’s light._

_"He'll deny me, I'm certain of that. I'm just thankful that he's willing to call me an associate, I don't wish to ruin what I do have with him." Crawly hung her head sadly. "I'm not his equal in the way you are with Yeshua. I'm not worth the risk."_

_Yeshua put an end to his reminiscing at the sound of water lapping on the shore. Water reminded him of Yochanan, the way his muscles rippled and moved like the waves, the strength of his arms, like a storm at sea._

_"Yeshua!" A friendly voice called to him and he raised his hand in greeting._

_"Shi'mon!" He greeted in return to the man standing beside his brother Andraus, as the siblings cast their net into the sea. Yeshua had met them both while walking to meet Yochanan on a day not half a year prior._

_"Have you come to meet your friend?" Andraus asks as Yeshua approached._

_"Come follow me." Yeshua began. The statement felt strange and awkward to vocalize, but Gabriel had assured him that the most open and needed humans would accept whatever words he gave them. "And I will send you out to be fishers of men."_

_To Yeshua's surprise they immediately dropped their net and joined him. With his new companions in tow, Yeshua closed the distance between himself and the man he was truly looking to find._

_Yochanan stood on his father's boat, looking as magnificent as always. With him were his brother Ya'aqov and his father._

_"It's time." Yeshua looked up to lose himself in the deep dark eyes he had loved since youth. They both knew this meant that their world together would soon be coming to an end. "Will you follow me?"_

_Yochanan's smile was confident, yet sad. "I'll follow you to the end of the world."_

Brutally, Balog rips Jesus from the sludge and the memory of that beautiful smile.

"Thought you were supposed to live a selfless life?" The demon rumbles somewhere near his ear, Jesus can't see through the sickening rot covering his eyes. "Deny yourself the torrid, sinful pleasures of the flesh."

"Love isn't sinful." Jesus gags, the fluid running from his lips to his tongue. It tastes as much like death as it smells.

"Oh, how he suffered for you." Balog yanks again, heaving him from the vat by his hair and tossing him onto the cold stone floor. The half-god yelps when his naked skin makes contact with the harsh surface. "And you go off to Heaven, leaving him behind. Did you ever wonder why you never saw him there?"

Jesus swipes the deep red mucus from his eyes, as a new fear settles itself into his core. He had wondered, quite often, but had come to the conclusion that different humans were kept in different areas. This is why he was very often caught wandering into areas he wasn't to be, he'd refused to stop looking.

_Did this mean Heaven and Hell had hurt Yochanan? What punishments had he been forced to suffer for loving me?_

"What did you do to him?" Jesus spits. "I'll kill you."

"Now there. Right there, you sounded just like your Mother." Balog wipes her own hands clean on a rag beside the cell door. She glances him over appreciatively before making her exit. The last thing Jesus hears before collapsing in exhaustion is the lock click behind her.

* * *

Aziraphale leans his head against the restroom mirror, hands palm down, bracing himself against the sink. He has come to the conclusion that all the hosts of Heaven are horrible, or at least all of the archangels.

Raphael is obviously a liar. Crowley, his Crowley, would never do the awful things Raphael had said. Aziraphale wants to leave even more so now than he did when he and his beautiful demon had been separated only a half hour earlier.

He prays that Crowley is safe. Aziraphale can barely stand the two of them being separated, his mind a whirlwind of horrible fates and tortures the host could be inflicted on the being he loves most in all of creation.

_I'll see him soon._ Aziraphale hopes that this too wasn't a lie and that the wait won't be terribly long. He desperately longs for visual confirmation that Crowley is whole.

The principality meets his own eyes in the mirror and looks himself over. He takes a moment to wash his face and fluff his buoyant curls. If he and Crowley are only to be awarded brief glimpses of each other until this is over, Aziraphale wants to look the best he can for his demon.

He turns his head from side to side appreciating his work when a loud knock sounds against the suites entry door. Aziraphale has been given one of the more opulent lodgings in the hotel. Spacious sitting room, two bedrooms, two full baths, a shower, a hot tub, fully functioning, fully stocked kitchen (complete with a rack full of his favorite wines) and a balcony, from which he can watch pass all the cities of the United States.

Exiting the restroom, Aziraphale crosses the large sitting room to great his visitor. Not that he really wants to greet them, as he's fairly certain who that visitor may be.

Disappointed and proven correct, Aziraphale does his best to keep his expression neutral as he glares into violet eyes. "Gabriel."

"Aziraphale. Hi" Gabriel's tone is gentle, his face relaxed and open. The archangel's hands are shoved into his trouser pockets and he's slouching forward as if to appear smaller. Instead of his usual attire of expensive suits, Gabriel's trousers are a light denim and his shirt a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Sorry you've been stuck with me, I know I'm the last person you want to deal with. I, in no way, want to make you feel uncomfortable. If I do, let me know."

"Well, that's certainly a first." Aziraphale quips, feeling mildly off centered and alarmed by Gabriel's appearance. The archangel looks and acts invitingly safe. It's all very, very wrong.

Gabriel flinches while stepping further in the hallway to give Aziraphale ample room to pass when ready. "You're right and I totally deserve any jabs or barbs you feel the need tp throw at me." He hangs his head, eyes trained on his feet. "When you're ready, and please take as much time as you need, we'll head downstairs."

"I'm ready now." Aziraphale holds a wary eye on his escort as he secures the door to his suite.

The pair walk in silence to the lift, Gabriel keeping as far from Aziraphale as possible. When the metals doors part, Gabriel waits, gesturing into the newly available space.

"After you." The fact that Gabriel is keeping his tone gentle and soft, has Aziraphale completely unnerved. Gabriel's loud, boisterous, a certified diva. The man shaped being with Aziraphale now is a meek, broken kitten of an angel.

Once inside the lift Gabriel moves himself to the opposite wall of the principality. "Crowley is safe, and I promise to keep him safe, for you."

"You do that." Aziraphale steadies his eyes on the metal doors, refusing to give Gabriel the satisfaction of eye contact.

"I'm so sorry, and I know what he means to you." Gabriel rubs the back of his neck, it's the first time Aziraphale has ever seen his former boss appear nervous. "I've been disgusting towards you for millennia, and he makes you happy. This is only the start of me trying to make up for what I've done."

"You are aware, no amount of niceties will cause me to turn my love away from him and give it to you?" Aziraphale allows his anxiety to bleed through as annoyance. He turns a reproachful gaze upon God's messenger.

"I'm aware." Gabriel's words hitch. He lifts his eyes to meet Aziraphale's and they're damp with unshed tears. "I've ruined my chances with you, selfish bastard I've been. But the words you yelled at me as you booted me from your shop that last time stuck with me. So that day I made myself a vow. I would become a better angel, on the chance that I might meet someone even half as perfect as you in the future, and, hopefully, be worthy of them."

"Well, that's an admiral goal." Aziraphale hates the tic of sympathy tugging at his heart. "I hope you find them."

"Thank you." Gabriel's words are barely above a whisper, a tear glides the length of his strong features.

Aziraphale's brow draws down in a mix of confusion and blasted angelic compassion, and he has to look away. Everything about this day has been topsy-turvy, as if he has unknowingly entered some parallel universe. He hopes when he sees Crowley sanity will be restored to his world.

It isn't.

Ten minutes later they enter the dining hall and Aziraphale spies him, flaming red hair and dark, form fitting clothes. Crowley's shades are off and he's seated at the bar with his back to Aziraphale and Gabriel. The demon is turned to face the stool beside him, the angel occupying that seat so close she's practically between Crowley's legs. He's cupping the back of her hand in one of his own and tracing the lines of the angel's palm with his other.

The angel is gorgeous, slender, with brown hair, olive skin and sea green eyes. Her excitement at the demon's touch is evident in the way she smiles and moves further into his splayed legs. Her knees openly brush his groin, and Crowley releases her hand, leaning forward he slides his hands up her outer thighs and whispers something in her ear. He nips the lobe playfully before pulling away, causing the pretty creature to smile sweetly, and watch the demon seductively through soft eyelashes.

Aziraphale thinks he may vomit, it feels like a star has imploded in his chest and the black hole created is now sucking all light, life and joy from the world around him. In a desperate haze, he stumbles past the diners until he reaches the bar. Grabbing Crowley by the shoulders, Aziraphale spins him so that they are facing.

"Oi! Angel, didn't see you come in." Crowley smirks.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?!" Aziraphale's words come out loud and pitchy, his breathing in short shallow bursts. Raphael's earlier speech comes back to him in horrible clarity. He's certain he isn't going to be capable of keeping himself together.

"Room 328. Got it." The interloper speaks, then stands, placing a kiss to Crowley's sharp cheekbone. "I'll catch up with you later."

Crowley returns her attentions. "I look forward to it."

Aziraphale fears he may faint. He can handle many situations with poise, his emotions kept in check. But not this, not a slight from the one being he loves more than anything in existence. More than his own existence.

"How could you?" Aziraphale breaks. Hugging his arms around his plump stomach, the angel's body shakes with sobs, tears streaming unbidden from his eyes.

"It's not all that you’re making it out to be, Aziraphale." Crowley has the nerve to sound annoyed! "Just loosening up a few uptight biddies. Not like you're gonna be joining me anytime soon." Crowley reaches out in an attempt to take Aziraphale's hand. "Swear when this is over, I'm all yours."

"Raphael was right." Aziraphale shakes his head vehemently, backing away from the offered hand. He had forgotten Gabriel's presence, until his back makes contact with the archangel's chest.

"Sorry." Gabriel backpedals immediately. "I didn't mean to stand so close."

Aziraphale turns towards the voice. "Am I required to be down here, or can I be briefed in my room?"

"No, um yes." Gabriel looks as confused as Aziraphale, and maybe just as angry. The archangel shoots an icy glare over Aziraphale's head to the demon behind him. "In that order." He blinks. "What I mean is, I or someone else can brief you later in your suite. Would you like me to walk you back?"

"No." Aziraphale tries to remember how to swallow. He's never been in this much pain or felt so viciously betrayed. "If I may, I need to be alone a bit." He absentmindedly pats Gabriel on the shoulder as he walks around him. "You may come up in an hour or so to brief me, just give me some time."

"Whatever you need." Gabriel sounds as broken as Aziraphale, but he can't be sure. The world as he'd known it is gone. Everything is now the opposite of what it had once been.

Aziraphale collides with several angels on his path to the lift. Apologizing he pushes through, it's impossible to see anyone clearly through the tears.

* * *

Crowley has been sprawled across his shitty twin bed in his shitty economy room for what feels like an eternity. It's currently him and Seraphina, the other three angels left two hours earlier.

_At least I know who the fuck Halriel is now._ He still isn't sure how far he's willing to trust Michael, but he'll play along.

Seraphina has settled into the chair in the corner, her full attention on the Heavenly issued smart phone in her hand.

"When am I going to see Aziraphale?" The demon groans. "Thought the damn meeting would've started by now."

"Soon." Seraphina doesn't look up, her intense focus on the tiny screen in her hand. "They had some sort of hiccup earlier with gettin' it all set up, but it shouldn't be too much longer now."

In one smooth motion Crowley is sitting, legs slung over the side of the bed and his feet planted firmly on the floor. "If this _has_ all been a trick, if you assholes have hurt Aziraphale in anyway, I swear to Satan..."

"Stop your mewling." Seraphina bites, rolling her eyes. "Gabriel's ass over tits in love with him. We'd hurt you way before we'd hurt him."

"Gabriel already tried to kill him once, so forgive me if your speech about the murderous asshat's loving devotion doesn't calm my fears." Crowley's lips curls back showing slightly pointed canines. Eremiel's words playing through his mind. _Your little pet will have plenty of company in your absence_. "If I find out the wanker's touched my angel against his will, I'll fucking rip his throat out."

"Well, aren't you romantic." She audibly sighs. "For one he's not _your_ angel, he's Heaven's angel. Demon's don't get angels, those of us with sense know to stick to our own kind. For another, if Gabriel touches him it’ll be because Aziraphale asks him to."

"He won't." Crowley snarls through gritted teeth, the canines now elongated to fully fledged fangs.

Seraphina shrugs, jutting out her lower lip. She hasn't looked away from the small screen for the duration of their conversation, and continues to not do so until there is a knock on the door.

"Come in!" She calls out, and seconds later Raphael enters the room. With everything else that's happening, Crowley isn't surprised the archangel has a key to his personal space.

_Course he does, lowly demon doesn't deserve anything as nice as privacy._

"They're ready for you." Raphael tics his head over his shoulder. "Come on."

The trio travel wordlessly down the lift and through the lobby to the hotel restaurant. Crowley is bordered on each side, as the two angels lead him to a round table near the kitchen door.

"Thought you lot didn't eat?" Crowley takes in the enemies around him as he lowers into his seat. To his left is Raphael. Continuing clockwise are Halriel, Eremiel, Uriel, Sandalphon, two empty chairs, Michael and Seraphina to Crowley's right.

"That was one of Gabriel's former rules." Gold flashes in Sadalphon's mouth. "And now, one of several he's recently rescinded. Apparently he thinks it would be good for us to learn to be more human."

"Speaking of." Eremiel smiles, gesturing to the kitchen doors. Out stumbles Gabriel, his hands full of take-away bags and pastry boxes.

"Hey guys!" Gabriel smiles in a way that actually looks authentic, as he hurries by with his bounty. He spins to face them again, walking backward as if not wanting to lose momentum towards his destination. "Get our new friend updated. If all goes well we should have you in action by tomorrow evening."

The archangel turns just in time to push open the restaurant door. Crowley is unaware his jaw has gone completely slack as he watches Gabriel hurry away. _Why's the arsehole so underdressed_?

"What the fuck was that?" Crowley snaps his mouth shut. "And where the fuck is Aziraphale?"

"Ah." Raphael throws an arm over Crowley's shoulders. "As you know, there was a hold up earlier involving the start time of this meeting."

“Yeah. Was charmingly explained to me by Lady Sunshine over there.” Crowley tilts his head to Seraphina.

“Well, you see, Aziraphale came to the bar an hour and a half ago with Gabriel.” Raphael squeezes Crowley jovially. “I hope you understand. The principality is trusted with more freedoms than an agent of Hell.”

“ _Former_ agent of Hell.” Crowley grunts while attempting to break from the angel’s hold. It only results in him being gripped tighter.

“It seems our Aziraphale enjoyed his former affianced’s company so much, he asked to be personally briefed by Gabriel. Alone. In his room.” Emerald eyes glimmer. “And for you to be given the message that he does not wish for you to interrupt.”

“Bullshit!” Crowley pushes away from the table with enough force that the wood shoves into Sandalphon’s stomach, causing the pudgy archangel to gasp. “I don’t know what you fuckers are trying to pull, but I won’t let it happen!”

“If you go storming up there half cocked, Crowley, he won’t speak to you.” Halriel stands slowly, moving cautiously as if trying to calm a dangerous animal. “You’ll accomplish nothing right now but to push him further away.”

“Fuck you!” Crowley spits, turning on his heels.

_Let them try to stop me. I’ll kill each and every one of them before I let that violet eyed bastard molest my Angel._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel weaves his lies

Gabriel knocks tentatively at the door to Suite 710. There’s a good minute of silence, then a series of chaotic footfalls and finally a hard thump from the other side of the door. Gabriel winces, certain that the cause of that impact was an Aziraphale shaped object falling against the wood.

Aziraphale cracks the door, leaning against the frame for support. It seems to take him a moment to identify his visitor. When the realization of who Gabriel is finally registers, Aziraphale’s eyes close and he clunks his temple against the entryway. “S’rry, c’mpletely forgot you were comin’.”

“Are you drunk?” Gabriel puts on his best concerned voice and face. _You’re a mess! How can you not see you need me? I’ll make you into something other angels envy._

“Gonna repri...reperim....punish me for it?” Aziraphale pushes away from the door, allowing it to fully swing open. The first thing Gabriel notices is the other angel’s state of undress. He’s in trousers and an untucked powder blue button down, the sleeves of which are undone and rolled to his elbows. No bow tie, the top two buttons of the shirt are open, and he is completely barefoot.

“Of course not.” _Fuck, I want to. You’re an angel of Heaven, a principality at that. You shouldn’t be this wrecked over a worthless, goddamn demon! It’s disgusting really, you’re going to need so much work._ “You’re in pain, you’ve been betrayed by someone you’ve loved and trusted for millennia. No decent being would reprimand you for trying to cope.“

Aziraphale stops walking, not that he’s doing it very well anyway, and turns to look Gabriel over. He wrinkles the skin around his nose, one of his eyes half closed. “Whas in your hands?”

“Treats.” Gabriel places his handful of take away bags on the floor in order to shut and lock the door.

Now that their privacy is secured, Gabriel snatches everything up again and carries it to the sitting room’s coffee table. “I know how much you enjoy eating and drinking. So I thought I’d indulge you while we chat, maybe it will help you feel better.“

“Thought I needed to lose the gut?“ Aziraphale frowns, pats his stomach, and doesn’t make to move closer. “Was too _soft_?”

_You are, you spoiled, fat bitch. Not that I wouldn’t fuck your brains out just as you are, but there’s so much potential under all that flab. I can’t wait until I can form you into the best version of yourself_.

Gabriel stops spreading the plates of food across the table and stands to face his target. “I did say that and I’m sorry.“

Aziraphale wobbles and nearly falls. Gabriel rushes to catch him and hold him upright. “Would you please sober up a bit?” Gabriel dips his head to catch the other angel’s gaze. “You’re going to hurt yourself without me holding you, and I’m fairly certain you don’t want me this close.”

The principality looks at him with glassy eyes for a beat and then contorts his face and strains his body, the bottles on the kitchen counter refilling.

“You okay?” Gabriel feels he’s getting really good at pretending to tolerate Aziraphale’s nonsense.

“Yes, thank you.” And with that, Gabriel releases Aziraphale’s biceps and returns to the sofa. Not long after Aziraphale actually joins him. “You were saying?”

Gabriel fights the urge to smile. Vice had told him they had laid the seeds for Aziraphale’s sins to show through. All it had taken was the brief touch to the angel’s fingers in the bar, before Aziraphale had pulled away from ‘Crowley’. Gabriel has been pleased to learn, Aziraphale is prone to all seven sins given the right circumstances. Up until now those circumstances were food, books and Crowley. Vice left an opening in the principality’s psyche for Gabriel to replace at least one, the archangel will work on the others.

“I’m sorry Aziraphale. You’re perfect just as you are, you always have been.“ Gabriel lays his hands on the cushion between them as an invitation. “But I was jealous, and I’ve always been more than a little spoiled and immature.”

“Yes, yes you have.” The words can’t be misinterpreted as anything but harsh.

“It hurts so much, knowing you love Crowley and not me, and I let my jealousy take over.” Gabriel has practiced this part in the mirror for days. He looks the other angel in the eye, with the best facsimile of absolute remorse on his own face. “I was so blinded by my wrath, I tried to kill you!” Gabriel drops his head and makes himself cry. “I know you’ll never forgive or trust me after that, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

Gabriel stumbles briefly in his act, when Aziraphale places a soft hand on the back of his.

“I understand.” The principality whispers. “Well, not completely but somewhat.” Aziraphale lifts Gabriel‘s hand and sandwiches it between both of his own. “Nothing in me wishes harm to Crowley, even after the way he’s treated me. But if hellfire were available, I might have burned the little trollop nestled up between his legs.”

Gabriel laughs through his fake tears and looks up to realize Aziraphale is joining him in the chortle. The way his eyes dance are nearly mesmerizing. _It’s no wonder you were able to make a demon love. Your tantalizing, a prize to be kept and put on display. Just a few major tweaks and I’ll be the envy of all the other angels with you on my arm._

“You know I’m reforming heaven. Making it more earth like. Encouraging angels to be more human.” Gabriel slides himself closer to his companion and delights that the other angel doesn’t pull away. “If you‘d ever like to visit sometime I could show you ar....”

“Angel!” Even muffled through the door, Crowley’s voice is loud enough to startle both angels out of the moment.

“Aziraphale!” The door begins to vibrate as something sizable is repeatedly thrown against the thick wood.

“Good heavens!” Aziraphale pulls his hands from Gabriel’s and places them over his heart. “What is that ridiculous serpent doing?”

“Sounds to me like he’s throwing his body against the door.” Gabriel stands, giving his best ‘I’m here to serve and protect’ stance. “Do you want me to handle him?”

“No.” Aziraphale rises from the comfortable sofa and gestures for Gabriel to return to his seat. “Let me handle him.”

The archangel finds the next several minutes to be some of the most entertaining and gratifying of his long existence.

It starts like this, Aziraphale stands up a bit straighter, juts out his chin, undoes the deadbolt and yanks the door wide.

Crowley must’ve been making another run to throw himself against the door at the exact moment Aziraphale opens it, because in flies a blur of red and black as the new arrival face plants at the edge of the sitting room. Valentino sunglasses catapult from the demon’s face and land beside Gabriel’s shoe.

“You!’ Crowley pushes himself awkwardly to his feet and takes on a defensive stance between Aziraphale and Gabriel. “Don’t you touch him!”

“And why shouldn’t he?” Aziraphale rounds Crowley in order to face him head-on. The angel’s arms cross over his chest. “You’ve been busy touching everything else in my absence.”

Crowley doesn’t speak at first, instead his face contorts through several different emotions. Gabriel briefly hopes that maybe Aziraphale has fully broken the creature, but then it speaks. “I haven’t touched anyone else, Aziraphale. Ever.”

“I just witnessed you fondling that.... that...” Aziraphale sputters, his arms uncrossing to gesticulate wildly, face now as red as Crowley‘s hair. If they weren’t immortal, Gabriel might worry that the blond is nearing an aneurysm.

“That _angel._ ” Aziraphale forces the word through gritted teeth.

“Trollop was the word he used a moment ago.” Gabriel calls out. God he’s enjoying this.

“Yes, thank you dear.’ Aziraphale’s shoulders and arms relax and he turns to smile gently at Gabriel. “I’ll let you know if I’m in need of assistance.”

“Angel? What the fuck?” Crowley’s eyes are wild as he throws his arm out, hand open to gesture to Gabriel. “You’re calling _him_ dear and using him for back up against _me_?”

“I’m sorry.’ Aziraphale bites his lip as the smile falls. He glances between the archangel and demon quickly a few times then settles his full attention back on Crowley. “Listen, Crowley, you’ve put me into a terrible state. I’ve spent over 6000 years on earth with you and during that time you’ve convinced me that you’re someone you’re actually not.”

“They’re getting in your head, angel.” Crowley’s hands raised to reach for Aziraphale and the angel doesn’t pull away. He does, however, drop his gaze from the demon’s face. It takes every ounce of willpower Gabriel has not to stand and grab the scrawny redheaded monster and toss him from the room.

“No my dear, you got into my head. Tempted me to fall in love with you.” Thick wet tears begin to fall from Aziraphale’s eyes. “Just as you’ve tempted countless others to love and lust for you.”

“Angel.” Crowley looks on the verge of his own tears. “I’ll admit, I’m sorry, I may have put a little temptation into our conversations over the years. Not as a means to control or deceive you, but a nudge to see if anything was between us. To know if you love me as I love you.”

The wretched creature is crying now, and Gabriel watches as Aziraphale’s defenses begin to drop. The archangel balls his hands into fists, holding them in his lap. It’s getting much harder not to react. He takes comfort in the fact that Vice has assured him of a back up plan if this one fails. But, if he can stop this here. “What was that with Orphiel then?”

“Is that her name?” Aziraphale seems to snap out of whatever spell the demon has him under. He pulls from Crowley‘s grasp to look at Gabriel, who nods. Returning his attention to the demon. “Yes, what about Orphiel?”

“Who?” Crowley looks about the room frantically, his hands now tugging at his hair. “Angel, I don’t know who that is.”

“Hmmph.” Aziraphale turns his back on Crowley and walks back to the sofa. “I suppose I should feel somewhat special. At least you remember my name.”

“She was the trollop rubbing her knee against your crotch.” Gabriel chirps helpfully, fueled on by a glint of something in Aziraphale’s glance. “You know, the one you were nibbling on her ear and inviting her to your room.”

Crowley stalks towards Gabriel. “Get the fuck out!”

Gabriel rockets to his feet, crushing Crowley’s shades as he storms to meet the demon halfway. “Only if Aziraphale wants me to leave.”

Aziraphale clears his throat, drawing both the demon and archangel’s attention. “Why don’t we all have a seat? I don’t feel like watching a fight and since no one cares enough about just leaving me alone this evening, Gabriel can brief us on the plan for getting Jesus back. I’ll decide from there who will be going and who will be staying.”

Gabriel places a hand on Aziraphale’s back and leads him to the sofa. “Whatever you need Sunshine.”

Crowley pulls his lips over his teeth, issuing an almost primal growl.

_Yes monster, remind him that you’re nothing more than a filthy beast._

Aziraphale settles onto the center cushion of the sofa, Gabriel to his right, Crowley to his left.

“Now.” Aziraphale shifts his body to Gabriel. “Sir, can you please fill us in.”

Gabriel frowns at the returning formality, but he’s just starting this process. Thankfully he does seem to have progressed to a fairly even footing with the demon. “From our very reliable intel, it seems Jesus is being held in an abandon warehouse in Portland.” Gabriel looks around Aziraphale to Crowley. “The kidnapping seems to be the work of your lot.”

“They’re not _my_ lot.” To a lesser angel the demon would’ve appeared dangerous, but the Serpent of Eden is nothing compared to the leader of Heaven. Hell, Gabriel has all seven sins under his control at this very moment. The most the little snake could accomplish right now would be to get himself annihilated.

“I’ve got to say, demon, that’s one statement out of your mouth I actually believe.” Gabriel relaxes into the cushions, throwing his arm across the back of the sofa, and in turn, Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Seeing how well-known you are for chasing angelic and demigod tail.”

“Is this the bullshit he’s been feeding you?!” Crowley pushes himself forward with his right hand on the back of the sofa. He curves his body around Aziraphale to gesture to Gabriel with his left hand. His position causing his body to block a semi-circle around Aziraphale, in a way that could be read as either possessive or protective.

“I saw you myself!” Aziraphale involuntarily moves further into Gabriel, while attempting to avoid the demon. “Apparently you’re not as adept at gaslighting as you are lying.”

“Can I finish?” Gabriel interrupts. Aziraphale’s blue eyes flash in his direction and Gabriel holds up his right hand in surrender. “Please, if it’s OK?”

“Yes, that is the only reason you are both still here.” Aziraphale removes the lid from a tray of sushi. He primly places a roll between his lips and moans in delight.

Gabriel promptly regrets the denim trousers. He looks to the demon, fully aware his and Crowley’s minds are sharing the same gutter. _Okay. So I won’t make him diet. I’ll just place them on a strict workout regimen._ “Our sources have confirmed, the Heavenly son was taken in order to stop his attack on the demon Lord Vice and the four Horsepersons’. You see, Jesus was on the verge of stopping their conquest of earth’s destruction.”

“The plan is, have us risk our lives so that Heaven can keep from getting their asses in a sling over losing God’s kid?“ Crowley’s hand inches towards Aziraphale’s stopping as closely as possible without touching. “Just send me in, I’m disposable. But I don’t like the idea of Aziraphale being near anyone who might get the notion to burn him in hellfire.”

Gabriel feels Aziraphale stiffen and slide closer to Crowley. _Clever move snake._

“I know what a wretched being I am. I was in a dark place, full of anger and jealousy.” Gabriel forces his eyes to water. “I was so very relieved when you survived Aziraphale. I immediately hated myself for the things I had said and for nearly killing you. I don’t expect you to forgive or trust me.” Moving his gaze to Crowley. “But I do regret the things I’ve done, for my failings that have caused me to fall so far from Aziraphale’s grace. I pledge to never again let any harm befall him.”

It was a lie, all of it, but Gabriel had made certain long ago that God would no longer be a problem. Gabriel knows he’s untouchable.

“But, no, we are not sending you into harm’s way.” He continues, wiping his eyes and pretending to collect himself. “Hell isn’t afraid of Heaven stopping them, they’re afraid of the both of you. They want a guarantee that neither of you will interfere with their destruction of earth. All they require is that the two of you pledge to stay out of their way, and they’ll hand Jesus over.”

“I can’t make that pledge.” Aziraphale pats a hand on Crowley’s knee. The contact is brief but enough to make Gabriel’s blood boil and the demon’s face soften with hope. “And I’m certain, neither can Crowley. I also refuse to leave the young man to suffer, so Crowley and I will take Jesus out of his captivity by force if necessary and then assist him in ending Hell’s assault on humanity.“

“Or.” Gabriel reaches across the coffee table to pop a small round pastry in his mouth. “Wow that is good.” He says out loud and preens when Aziraphale smiles at him. “You both make the pledge and get Jesus to safety. You won’t be pledging on the side of Heaven, so that means I, followed by the rest of the Host can defend earth‘s safety.”

“You would fight to protect the humans?” Almighty, how Aziraphale looks at him, blue eyes shining with a reverential awe. “Would order Heaven to stand on the side of earth?”

_Outdo me now demon_.

Fighting a smirk, Gabriel does his best to match Aziraphale’s soulful expression. “I told you, Aziraphale, I want to be a better being. And watching the way you so dearly love the earth and its inhabitants tells me that they must be truly precious, to be loved by such a treasure as you.”

Aziraphale blushes and rises from a seat. Padding barefoot to the entrance of his suite, he opens the door. “Thank you Gabriel for the lovely meal, feel free to take as much with you to your own room as you like.” He moves his gentle gaze to the serpent, still sitting on the sofa looking as if he may burst a blood vessel or into tears at any moment. “Crowley, rather a lot has happened between us in the past 24 hours. I do believe you may have forfeited any chance of our relationship becoming romantic.”

“Angel, please. Whatever lies they’ve been telling you or things they’ve brainwashed you into believing, they’re not true.” The gangly mess of arms and legs stands, blundering across the sitting room towards Aziraphale. “I love you, Angel. Always have. I’ve waited _for you_ , I actually saved myself for you. Do you know how much work I put into making sure Hell put _those_ sort of temptations on other demons?”

“You just can’t stop, can you?” Aziraphale looks absolutely broken. Gabriel watches from the corner of his eye while collecting a few food items to take with him. He’s decided to eat a bit, something else he’ll use to connect with Aziraphale. “Before today I never believed you would lie to me Crowley. I need time alone. I’ve loved you for so long, my dear. I don’t want you gone from my life completely, but I don’t know if I can trust you. I need time to evaluate if our friendship is worth saving.”

Crowley’s eyes have gone full serpent as they ardently search Aziraphale’s face. His mouth is slack and he flexes his fingers. It’s obvious he’s fighting not to reach for the angel. He finally just nods his head and steps into the hallway.

Gabriel follows shortly behind, pausing on the outer threshold of the suite. “If you need me, I’m right next door.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiles sweetly and closes the door.

The sound of the bolt latching and then the words “You son of a bitch!” Are all Gabriel hears before he is struck in the gut by a demonic shoulder.

His back hits the carpet so hard it knocks the wind from his corporal form. In a flash the demon’s claws are out, swiftly swiping towards Gabriel’s face, the archangel easily catching Crowley’s wrists.

“What’s wrong Crawly? Afraid someone might take back the shiny toy you stole?” Gabriel unleashes his wings and propels himself to his feet. With the momentum, he slams Crowley into hallway wall, the back of the demon’s skull impacting with a loud thwack.

“Don’t you fucking dare refer to him like he’s a possession.” Crowley rolls his head, his words sluggish and slurred. “He’s not a thing to be owned.”

“Thinking like that is why you’ll never own him.” Gabriel wraps a broad hand around the demon’s scrawny throat. He doesn’t squeeze just yet, he uses the leverage to lift Crowley‘s eyes to meet his own. “Oh the ways I plan to improve him, the things I’m going to do. And after a while, he’ll become so accustomed to it all, he’ll beg me for more. Can you hear it Crawly? The sound of him screaming my name?”

“Fuck you.” Then the vile thing has the gall to spit in Gabriel’s face and the archangel sees nothing but red.

Gabriel doesn’t hear the lift ding, Michael shouting or the crunch of bone beneath his hand and fist.

Doesn’t realize the amount of celestial energy he’s forcing into the infernal being.

Doesn’t register Vice and Beelzebub pulling him away from the limp, bloodied, nearly destroyed demon in his hands.

He doesn’t see Michael and Hastur supporting the demon’s broken body as they hurry it to the lift and back to it’s room.

All he hears is Beelzebub buzzing angrily as they and Vice toss Gabriel into his own suite. “I really hope you didn’t completely dezzztroy him yet. I wazz promizzed the right to torture him. If you’ve ruined my end of the deal, I’m gonna be pizzed.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale prays, Hastur and Michael work to heal Crowley. Jesus deals with Balog meddling with his memories.

Aziraphale hasn’t an inkling about the chaos occurring just beyond the walls of his suite. The wards Vice had thrown up earlier also safeguard against any sound issuing in or out of the room, unless someone is knocking on the door directly. Or, as in the case earlier, throwing their skinny body against it.

Aziraphale is instead lost in his thoughts. Conflicting emotions making life in general difficult to comprehend. He worries he was too soft on Crowley, but the current situation is Crowley’s fault.

Aziraphale loves him, has loved him since Mesopotamia. The angel can’t reconcile the memory of a being who raged against Heaven for the lives of children, to the coldhearted bastard willing to crush Aziraphale’s soul for a quick fling.

Aziraphale can’t be expected to easily reprogram six millennia of formed opinions in a single day. So when Crowley once again came charging into his room in full rescue mode, it took all the angel’s willpower to not completely forget the disaster in the bar. In that moment Aziraphale only wanted to wrap Crowley in his arms and believe any excuse the demon gave him. In all honesty, if Gabriel hadn’t been present, he most likely would have done just that.

And that brings us to the other thing that has Aziraphale’s mind all muddled. Gabriel.

Starting the moment in the bar, when Crowley had reached out to Aziraphale and he pulled away, the angel has been slowly coming to the realization that Gabriel might actually be an ally. That, perhaps, he has spent millennia allowing himself to be tempted away from heaven and God‘s plan.

“It’s plausible.” Aziraphale speaks out loud between bites of Makizushi, salmon and decadent chocolates. What better way to heal a heartbreak and clear one’s mind, than with good food and a soliloquy. “Who am I kidding? It’s not just plausible, it’s extremely probable.”

Pausing in his consumption, Aziraphale chastises himself for having cleared the table of over half the spread Gabriel left behind. Looking down and patting his pudgy stomach. “Oh, my God. He’s ruined me. Gabriel is correct. I’ve become overly indulgent under Crowley’s hellish influence.”

It all makes logical sense, but somehow doesn’t feel right.

“I’m just so very confused.” He continues to speak aloud, but this time it’s to God. “I‘ve fallen by the wayside with Heaven, but I’ve never felt you leave me. Lord, I know that’s because you can see into my heart and its intent has never been to betray you.”

He waits, his only response is silence. “You and I both know I love him. I’m unsure I’ll ever be able to stop, quite frankly it’s an emotion beyond my ability to control.”

Standing, Aziraphale walks to the kitchen. Retrieving a bag for waste, he clears the overly rich food from the sitting room table. “I’ve convinced myself that this love was a gift from you, and therefore not sinful to pursue.”

He ties the top of the now full bag and places it beside the waste bin, before grabbing the once again full bottle of 1990 Petrus. One more night to indulge in wine should be forgivable. “But now I am unsure.”

Carrying the bottle to the sofa, he takes a seat. Bending forward Aziraphale lifts a pair of mangled Valentino shades from the floor. “I’m sorry if the direction I have turned is in opposition to what you wanted for me.”

Cradling the twisted metal to his chest, the angel drinks deeply from the bottle and sobs. “If I was mistaken, if Heaven was correct in trying to punish me, please take this love from me. Relieve me of this burden and please except my plea for forgiveness.”

Another long swig and Aziraphale deposits the bottle onto the table. He lifts the frames to his mouth and places a soft kiss to the metal. “But if Gabriel is lying. If this is somehow a charade, let me see through the illusion.”

With a wave of his well-manicured fingers, the shielded shades are restored. Slipping them onto his face, Aziraphale settles back into the cushions of the sofa and miracles another bottle into his hand. “You know my heart, and what I hope beyond hope your answer to be.”

* * *

Hastur reaches for the door of Crowley’s room and discovers he’s missing something important. “Fuck, does he have his key card in his pocket? Vice has the only other copy.”

“Not anymore.” Michael holds up a thin strip of plastic between her index and middle fingers.

“They give you one too?” Hastur hoists Crowley into his arms bridal style, relieving Michael of the shared weight so she can open the door.

“No. I swiped it from their pocket in the chaos.” She hurries the two demons inside.

“You pickpocketed a Lord of Hell?” If Hastur wasn’t in such a hurry to save this former coworkers life, he’d have kissed Michael senseless right now. Well, if she’d let him. They’ve been growing closer, brushing hands and of course she’d passed out in his bed. But nothing as intimate as a kiss. _I completely understand why Ligur chose you._

“Call it what you will.” She helps him lay Crowley across the double bed. “It’ll keep them from just popping in whenever they like.”

“They’ll just get another one made.” Hastur grouses, remembering the asshole hovering over his own bed, leering at Michael. “They have one to every occupied room.”

“That’s Gabriel’s doing.” She lifts the unconscious demon’s torso. “Pull his shirt off for me please.”

“What’s the deal with Mr. I Hate Demons being suddenly best friends with the worst of us?” Torn Henley removed and skinny body replaced onto the mattress, Hastur cringes at the extent of Crowley‘s injuries. There’s very little area on the once pale torso that’s not turned purple with bruising. Taking his smart device from his own trouser pocket, Hastur snaps a photo.

“What are you doing?” Michael’s seated herself to Crowley’s right. She looks up at Hastur, features a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Her hands are on Crowley’s face, which had been just as mangled, if not more so, as his body. Just seconds before his eyes were swollen shut and his nose was askew making him nearly unrecognizable. In the brief passing of Hastur and Michael’s conversation, the archangel has Crowley’s face back to rights.

“We obviously can’t leave him near death.” Hastur gestures to the quickly healing body. “But if I can get Aziraphale alone, I want him to see what Gabriel’s capable of and explain to him what’s really going on.”

“His corporation is restored.” Michael’s gaze never leaves Crowley, as Hastur takes a seat on the bed to Crowley’s left. “But his infernal essence is fading. Gabriel infected him with a lethal amount of holy energy.”

“Can you pull it out?”

“I can, but it’s eaten away a large portion of his essence already.” Michael looks frightened and Hastur fights the urge to reach out. She places her hands over Crowley’s right peck. “I don’t know if he has enough left to survive.”

“Just do it, I’ll handle the rest.” Hastur places his own hands over Crowley’s heart.

“Don’t push yourself too far.” She finally looks from the patient to catch Hastur’s eyes. Her fear for him is breathtaking. The idea that someone such as her could, in such short time, give a shit about a vile thing like him. “And don’t touch your hands to mine until we’ve finished.”

Michael closes her eyes, her head tilting black. She lets out a steady breath and her hands begin to glow a light and brilliant blue. Hastur can't bring himself to look away.

The archangel’s skin releases small sparks of static, as the electric blue current moves from her hands, to her wrists and then up her arms to her shoulders. Not stopping, it continues over her torso and through her legs. As it creeps up her neck, Michael begins to shake.

“Stop! Don’t touch me!” Her voice reverberates with the pulsing of the light. Hastur looks down and realizes he had begun to reach for her without thinking. “Now! Do your part now!”

Hastur returns both hands to Crowley’s chest mere seconds before the light engulfs Michael’s face, finds its exit through her upturned mouth and dissipates in miniature bolts of lightning across the ceiling.

Pushing his own infernal essence forward, Hastur closes his eyes and slowly replaces Crowley’s life force, in a steady flow of dark energy. The process working similarly to a blood transfusion to the spirit rather than the corporation. It’s not as flashy or awe inspiring as what Michael is doing, but something doesn’t need to be beautiful to be beneficial.

Crowley gasps. Hastur stops the flow emitting from himself and opens his eyes. Michael has collapsed beside Crowley’s right leg. She and Crowley breathing deeply and comfortably, Crowley’s skin once again flushed and showing strong signs of life.

Now, certain that everyone is safe, Hastur stretches out along the duvet beside his former subordinate’s left leg and drifts into unconsciousness as well.

* * *

_It had been five days since Yeshua had entered the holy city, greeted with fanfare and pomp. And only twenty minutes since he’d sent all but one of his followers onward to the home of a man who would allow them to prepare and partake in the Passover meal in his lodgings. The other disciples had no idea that man was the archangel Gabriel. The only disciple he could entrust with that information, Yeshua kept at his side._

_He led Yochanan away from the large crowds and noise. His time on earth was drawing to a close, and the two men needed somewhere, anywhere they could hold the other and be held._

_“Crawly reserved something for you and I.” No matter how much he wanted to, Yeshua didn’t take Yochanan’s hand. It was too dangerous to do so in the open. “We won’t have long. Maybe two hours at most, but I need to hold you, kiss you.” The pain of knowing this would soon be gone evident in his voice. “As this is likely our last chance.”_

_“Please. Is there no other way?” Yochanan’s pain was just as clear as Yeshua’s own. The demigod looked to his beloved, in hopes of getting lost in deep dark pools, but Yochanan kept his eyes focused on the dirt path over which they walked._

_“No.” Yeshua braved a hand on his lovers shoulder, allowing the gentlest brush of fingers along the nape of Yochanan’s neck. “But I’ve been promised resurrection, and I swear to return myself to you.“_

_“Yeshua! Yochanan!” Crawly called from the window of a small, empty pillared house. There had been a tinge of panic in the way she had gestured for them to come inside, before disappearing from the window._

_Yeshua ushers Yochanan across the threshold first. Following closely into the cool, dark interior of the stone structure, he secures the wooden door behind them and both men follow Crawly past a curtained doorway and into a back room with no windows._

_“I take it something has happened.“ Yeshua watched Crawly expectantly. He knows she wouldn’t be interrupting his meeting if not for something important._

_Crawly herded both men into the furthest corner of the room. Her voice dropping so low, Yeshua had to strain to hear her words. “Yochanan’s in danger.”_

_“What?” Yochanan reaches for Yeshua, winding his arm around the demigods waist. “Why?”_

_“They’ve found you out.“ Crawly glanced over her shoulder to the curtained entryway. “There’s dissension and jealousy among the disciples.“ She returns her golden gazed to her friends, specifically Yeshua. “Each of them believes they should take your place once you’re....” Crawly swallowed audibly, blinking back tears. “Gone.”_

_“Well, they can have that. I don’t want power or leader ship.“ Yochanan’s grip on Yeshua tightened. “I just want him, for as long as I can have him.“_

_“Yes, well the others talk in front of me as if I’m not there.“ Crawly’s flame hair escaped in ringlets from beneath her head covering. “It’s a curse and a benefit of presenting as female. They seem to see me as a decoration, rather than a cognitive human who can repeat the things they say.“_

_Yeshua couldn’t deny any of that. Young Miriam, not his mother, but the sister of Lazarus, had been scolded on more than one occasion for having the impulse to learn from him. “And what is it that they have said?”_

_“They know of your union.“ Crawly’s sharp features contorted in a sympathetic show of pain. “They fear you will appoint Yochanan over this movement which you’ve built. They’ve overheard Gabriel speak about the global power your church will become and what he plans to make you into.“ She rolls her lower lip between her teeth. “There’s talk of turning the both of you over to authorities.“_

_“No.” Yeshua had held firm to Yochanan’s side. “That is to be my fate and mine alone, not his. Heaven won’t return his life as they promised to do mine.”_

_“Which is why, when you leave from here, the two of you should separate.“ Crawly placed a hand on each of their arms. “Yeshua go to the disciples, Yochanan go to Yeshua’s mother Miriam and remain there until the crucifixion.”_

_“The next time I’m permitted to see him, will be as he dies?” Yochanan’s breathing had become fast and shallow, tears streamed down his face._

_“I’m sorry.” Crawly choked on her words. “But Yeshua’s correct. If you die, there’s no coming back.”_

_“Then, I’ll wait for you in Heaven.“ Yochanan’s dark eyes looked to him pleadingly. “This can’t be all I have. I can’t just let you go after two hours, and then....” This had been the moment Yeshua’s beloved had broke, his body falling against the half-god. Yochanan’s fingers grasping Yeshua’s robes as he sobbed into the fabric. “And then watch you die.”_

_“Thank you Crawly.” Yeshua held Yochanan close, burying his face in his beloved’s dark curls, which were still warmed from the heated sun. “Join the others before they become suspicious of you as well. I’ll meet you when my time here is up.“_

_Crawly opened her mouth speak, but then seemed to change her mind. She looked so upset, and Yeshua knew what she was thinking. Yes, she saw her friend and his beloved, but she was also faced with what would become of her angel in a world where she would permit herself to love him and be loved._

_Without another word, the demon slipped silently from the home._

_When they were finally alone, Yeshua pulls Yochanan to the small bed pressed against the left wall. “Let’s enjoy this bit of time, and then just let me go, my love. There’s no need for you or my mother to witness my death.“_

_“I need to be with you through it all.” Yochanan presses a hard, despairing kiss to Yeshua’s lips. The demigod remembers the taste of the salt in their mingled tears and sweat on his lover’s mouth._

_“If an uprising happens amongst the others, Heaven will find out.“ Yeshua’s words ghosted over Yochanan’s breath as they pulled apart, foreheads resting together. “Gabriel ordered that I was to have no deep physical or emotional intimacy with anyone, so as not to breed within myself an attachment to this plane.”_

_Yeshua hooked a finger under Yochanan’s chin, lifting his face so that their eyes could meet. “If Gabriel discovers us, he could very well destroy you entirely, or send you to Hell where I could never come to you.“_

_Mother Almighty, even with his face red and wet with tears, Yochanan had been the most beautiful thing She had created. He surged forward, pressing Yeshua into the bed below him. Their hands and mouths, starving, searching, laying out the landscape of one another’s bodies. If this is to be their last time together on this planet, in this way, Yeshua wanted to feel and remember it all._

_“Swear to me.” Yeshua caught Yochanan’s hand as he’d reached for the oil conveniently left beside the bed. “Swear to me, you’ll stay safe, so that I have the chance of finding you again.“_

_Yochanan shuddered and collapsed onto his lover. Face nestled against Yeshua’s neck, Yochanan trailed kisses along the warm, dark skin. “I’ll swear, but only if you swear that you will find me.”_

_“Come the wrath of Heaven or Hell my love.” Yeshua rolled their bodies so that he now lay on top. Taking the bottle, Yeshua slicked his fingers. “I will not rest until I hold you again.”_

Sputtering, Jesus surfaces on his own this time. Balog, having released her grip on his hair, strolls unbothered to the wash basin that now sits by the cell door.

“Couldn’t keep that promise could you?” She shakes the water from her now sludge-less hands.

“As long as I still live, there’s a chance.” Jesus clings to the side of the vat. He isn’t supposed to hate. Gabriel told him over and over again that his purpose was to love everyone equally, follow orders and submit when required. But he hates Balog. Hates the way she’s in his head, viewing his most intimate and cherished memories.

“It’s so fun that you honestly believe that.” She chuckles, tossing the course black towel onto the just as dark table holding the basin. “I cannot wait until you find out.”

“Find out what?” Jesus‘ heart drops into his stomach. God, how he hates her, hates Gabriel and all his orders that separated him and Yochanan. “You can’t keep him from me. I’ll bring down Heaven and Hell to find him.”

“You obviously won’t.” She tilts her head to the side, pouting her lower lip mockingly. “You had years to look and failed. I mean we all know you tried, but you failed. And now you’ve forfeited that chance by offering yourself to be sacrificed here.”

Balog straightens her neck, the pout morphing into a vicious smile. “You’ve sentenced yourself to obliviation because you’re a coward.” With a shrug she pulls open the cell door. “Not that it would’ve mattered if you hadn’t.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Hastur leave Crowley very confused, Gabriel and Vice are shitheads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has asshat Gabriel fantasizing about forcing Aziraphale to do things to him. Doesn’t happen for real, but we see the bastard’s fantasy. If you don’t want to read it, it starts third paragraph of the second section of the story with the words “Gabriel is laying back on the bed.” It ends on the 11th paragraph with “Thanks for the show.”
> 
> Anyway, as always, let me know if you catch grammatical or spelling errors. And thank you so much for reading. I love you all ❤️❤️❤️

**August 11, 2:30AM**

The last thing Crowley remembers is pain. An agonizing beating to his corporal form, along with a searing burn into the deep recesses of his infernal soul. He was dying, that asshole Gabriel’s ethereal light slowly eating away at the very core of who Crowley is.

But the demon couldn’t just go like that, he has an angel to protect. If Crowley were to snuff out of existence in this place, Aziraphale would be trapped in Gabriel’s snare forever.

Crowley could step aside for someone Aziraphale might actually want and who would treat Crowley’s angel with the respect and indulgence he deserves. Gabriel is not that being.

So, Crowley had fought the holy fire melting him from within, all the time, Aziraphale’s kind face his mind’s focus.

_I love you, Angel._ He prayed to the only being worth praying to _. I can’t die until you believe it. I need you to believe it. You’re beautiful and good. Too good for Gabriel, don’t let him convince you to settle. You’re the best of all of us, and although I’d fail over and over, I’d live every day, every breath trying to give you everything you want and need. I’d do all I could to give you the world. If not me, then give your heart to someone who sees you as I do. But not him, not that purple eyed piece of shit._

On the edge of consciousness, he felt his corporal body being dropped, hands lifting him, then a soft surface under his back. Crowley was jostled about, there were hands on his skin and the pain surged full force before something warm and dark began to refill the reservoirs of what he‘d lost. It was like whiskey being shot directly into his bloodstream, the warm numbing effect causing him to drift into the sweetest of dreams.

So as Crowley leisurely returns to consciousness, it is with the taste of a dream Aziraphale’s lips on his tongue and a goofy smile on his face.

Sighing contentedly, Crowley lazily blinks his eyes open and takes in the room around him. His calm, content mood immediately devolving into panic, repulsion, guilt and fear.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!“ Crowley scrambles to the head of his bed in a fashion that resembles a toddler attempting to crab walk.

_Why am I half naked in a bed with Michael and.....Holy fucking shit! Is that Hastur?!_

He’s suddenly reminded of all the terrible things which Aziraphale had accused him. _Did I do something unconsciously? Are these assholes manipulating my mind? Did Aziraphale actually witness me doing something I didn’t even know I was doing? And why the fuck is Hastur here?!_

Crowley folds down the duvet and crawls underneath to hide his bare skin, as the other two beings begin to stir. Michael glances to him groggily, then to Hastur her eyes blowing wide.

“You look like you again.” Did Michael just brush a scraggly hair from Hastur’s face?!

“Damn it.” Hastur turns to check his reflection in the full-length mirror beside the bed. “Sorry you had to see this ugly mug the moment you wake.”

“I don’t mind you, in any form, being the first thing I see.” The look she gives the Duke of Hell is disturbingly recognizable. It’s identical to the one Crowley hides behind his shades while watching Aziraphale.

“I, more than anyone, totally understand a demon getting all googly over an angel. But please for the love of Satan, tell me that what looks like happened, most definitely _did not_ happen.” Crowley points an index finger and, waving his hand in a circular motion, indicates to each being on the bed.

“What?” Hastur raises his left eyebrow and looks from Michael to Crowley and back repeatedly, searching for more information. “What does it look like happened?”

Crowley never thought Michael to be a very expressive being. On any previous occasion they‘s had the misfortune of meeting, she’s always kept the same steady resting bitch face. Crowley hadn’t been certain she could even feel emotion, until now, as her face twists and morphs through multiple emotions in a span of five seconds.

It goes like this, confusion, horror, disgust, until she finally settles on a nearly maniacal laughter.

“No _, that_ did not happen.” She finally stops to catch her breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Gabriel nearly killed you, we brought you here to heal.”

“Wait. What does he think happ......Oh for Hell’s sake!” Hastur gags in an over the top dramatization of the act. “That’s repulsive, Crowley!”

“Yeah, my bad.” Crowley’s too out of sorts to feel anything but embarrassed. “It’s been a weird couple days. So I’m guessing you healed me so that I can guard Aziraphale during tomorrow’s mission.” He glances to the digital clock beside the bed. “Or today’s mission, I guess I should say.”

Michael’s celestial phone starts to play a generic ringtone melody, and her eyes go wide. She puts your fingers to her lips for the others to remain silent and answers the call.

“Hello.” Michael stands, her freehand resting atop her head. “Yes, yes, we took him back to the room to heal him.” A pause, Michael shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I thought that’s what you’d want us to do.”

Michael opens her eyes again, and mouths to Hastur, _You need to go_. “No, I’m still with the demon Crowley, felt it unwise to leave him without a guard.”

Once Hastur is on his feet, she stands as well and wrangles him to the entryway. Pushing him up against the wall, Michael opens the door, looks both ways before ushering the demon into the hall. She speaks, loud enough that Hastur can hear. “Hastur has gone back to the second floor to wait for you. His outer illusion failed when he used his demonic essence to heal Crowley.”

Another pause. “Oh, no, he can’t hear me, I stepped into the hallway to speak. Besides he’s out like a light.”

Michael turns in the doorway and mouths to Crowley _. Sorry_. “Yes, Hastur left to keep Crowley from seeing past our ruse.”

She returns fully into the room, shutting the door behind her. “Yes, I am re-entering the room now. It appears Crowley has awoken during my absence........Yes, very good. See you soon.”

Michael ends the call and shoves the phone into her back pocket. “Listen, I don’t have time to explain right now. They’re on their way here.”

“Who?” Crowley reaches for his Henley. Discovering it’s torn beyond recognition he snaps his fingers, miracling a black button down and slides it over his arms.

“That’s going to take some time to explain, and I need to know you won’t let the cat out of the bag until we can get you, Aziraphale and Jesus away from here.” Michael looks herself over in the full length mirror, setting her hair and clothes to rights. “How much do you know about shapeshifting, and which beings, if any, are capable of such a feat?”

_Shit! I knew this was a trap_. Crowley decides to tell a mostly truth. “I’ve never heard any stories of any beings able to do such a thing.”

“Nor had I, that is until a few months ago. Gabriel discovered, not only is it possible, but which beings are able to pull off such an act.” A loud knock on the door. “Remember, not everyone is what they seem, and don’t say a word about seeing Hastur. Got it?”

“Got it.’ Crowley will do anything she says right now. Heaven has obviously figured out his and Aziraphale’s switch. And if Hastur’s involved, Hell is too. “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t hurt him.”

Michael shakes her head and grimaces. She opens her mouth to speak, as the door to the room bursts inward.

“Would you believe I lost the key to this room?” Raphael booms, loud and obnoxious in the tiny space. “Took me longer than it should have to get another one issued!”

* * *

**5:30AM**

Gabriel doesn’t sleep, never has and never will. Yes, he’ll indulge Aziraphale for a little while with other earthly pleasures, but too much can happen while one is unconscious. Gabriel is unwilling to relinquish that much control.

He has sampled a portion of the treats brought from Aziraphale’s suite. He could maybe grow accustomed to eating, as long as the principality understands it cannot happen too often or too indulgently. After the sound the archangel had heard the previous night, he will most likely limit Aziraphale’s food consumption to the bedroom. It could be his reward for pleasing Gabriel properly, with each good job done the archangel would grant his pet a treat.

Gabriel is laying back on the bed, his hand stroking his dick which has been freed from both denim and pants, and fantasizes about the ways in which his pet will soon submit to his will.

He closes his eyes and pictures pink full lips wrapped around his cock. _You want to glutton yourself, Aziraphale?_ Gabriel will dig his fingers into soft blond curls. _Then glutton yourself on this, you filthy, fat whore._

Aziraphale will gag and whimper when Gabriel forces his face further onto his shaft. He may even struggle and try to pull away but Gabriel won’t let him. The archangel will wrap his legs around the blond’s shoulders to keep his body still, using the full strength of his hands and arms to force Aziraphale’s into just the rhythm he wants.

_Don’t fight this sunshine, or you’ll get so much worse_. Gabriel’s cock twitches as he imagines Aziraphale’s face, red and covered in tears. Gabriel‘s subordinate, submissive, pliant and his. Finally his.

_You better wrap that pretty mouth and tongue around me tighter_. Gabriel’s grip will become more forceful in that snowy fluff, gripping hard enough to draw dark red against the white. _The sooner you get me off, the sooner I let you go._

In reality, Gabriel is stroking his dick viciously. He can see in his mind’s eye, the moment Aziraphale fully does as is required, crying, wrenching and gagging. Gabriel fucking into his mouth and throat with complete reckless abandon.

In the privacy of his suite, Gabriel actually shouts out. “Yes! Fuck! Take it all, take it all you wanton slut!”

His come covering his fingers as he pretends it’s pouring into Aziraphale’s open and raw throat.

“Thanks for the show.” Vice purrs from Gabriel’s left.

“Shit!” The archangel waves away his mess and as quickly as is safe, collects himself into his jeans. “I’ve given you permission to pop in on everyone else, but you don’t have the authority to do so to me.”

“I could smell the lust from down the hall.” They shift into a perfect replica of Aziraphale. “I thought maybe you’d like a little help taking care of that.”

If Gabriel were a lesser angel, he might worry about repercussions for his decision. But he’s not. He’s the highest ranking being in all of Heaven and has been since late year 1BCE.

“Can I play rough with you again?” Gabriel snaps away all clothing from his lower extremities.

“I wish you would.” The fake Aziraphale’s voice sounds so perfectly authentic. They lick their lips and crawl onto the bed, straddling Gabriel‘s legs. “Give me all your pent-up lust, wrath, greed, envy. Abuse me in all the ways you want to him. Then once you’re sated, there’s another couple in the ranks I think we need to discuss.”

* * *

**6:00AM**

“What do you think this is about?” Sandalphon looks up to Uriel as they wait for the lift to deliver them to the ground floor. He’s always looked up to Uriel, in the literal and metaphorical senses of the word.

Not only is she taller than him, but she’s smart and strong. Sandalphon has always believed her much more capable of leadership than either Michael or Gabriel.

Especially more so than Gabriel. Sandalphon can’t be near the arrogant tosser without filling envy for the archangel currently standing next to him. It’s unfair that someone so ingenious must wait in silence behind two unfit, hypocritical traitors.

“My best guess is she’s going to test the waters. See if it’s safe to show us her hand.” Uriel‘s brown eyes move to meet his and as always, Sandalphon holds his breath. They’re beautiful, warm and intelligent, windows to the brilliant being inside.

“And how would you like for us to proceed?” He, as always, prepared to please.

“We pretend to hear her out. Maybe give some constructive advice. But don’t show our own hand in any way.” The lift doors open, and the two move closer to one another as they step into the lobby.

“So, do you think this has to do with Gabriel or her demon friends?” Sandalphon’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know.” Uriel answers just as quietly as she’d been questioned. “She’s far too entrenched with the citizens of Hell, and I’d rather not form those connections. Therefore, if this is about _those sorts_ specifically, let’s make sure she knows we aren’t interested.”

They arrive outside the hotel’s opulent restaurant, and Sandalphon holds open the double glass door. “You lead the conversation, and I will follow you.”

Uriel throws him a knowing smile. She’s been well aware for centuries how he feels for her, but she’s not made for romantic love. She’s been honest with him, never using his emotions against him in a deceptive way. Her integrity making Sandalphon respect her all the more. He’s settled for being content as her closest and most trusted confidant.

They weave, one behind the other, amongst the tables and patrons towards where Michael waits. She’s chosen a far-left corner booth, her back to the wall, allowing her to be well aware of any and all beings approaching.

“What’s this about, Michael?” Uriel slides into the bench seat opposite her coworker first, Sandalphon settling beside Uriel.

“I’ve always known you to be sensible and above all else, one to put the will of the Almighty first and foremost.” Michael’s full attention on Uriel. Sandalphon doesn’t mind, he’s here for whatever Uriel may request of him, nothing more.

“Then, you know me well.” Uriel rests her left elbow on the table, and her chin on the back of her left hand. “But I’m sure you’re not here to flatter me. So why is it you’re buttering me up?”

“According to Gabriel and Vice, Jesus is in on this over the top façade.” Michael bites her upper lip and squints her eyes. “I can’t help but find that suspicious.”

“Why? Because the half breed was friends with the demon?” Uriel shrugs. “That ended nearly 2000 years ago.”

“But it’s so out of character for the kid.” Sandalphon finds it ridiculous that Michael would refer to Jesus as a kid. “He and Crowley were as thick as thieves. I heard audio from the plane where Crowley says Jesus was like his brother.”

“Yes, but the demon is a sentimental fool.” Uriel leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. “My guess is, Jesus understands and is willing to put the greater good ahead of any emotional attachments. He’s done it before.”

“Maybe you’re right, but it still feels off.” Michael rubs her left hand over her brow. “I mean, why haven’t any of us seen him besides Gabriel? Why wasn’t he briefed with the rest of us?”

“Do you want to know what I think? I think you ask too many questions.” Uriel glares. “I think you’ve spent too much time with demons, and because of you’re bad influence, Gabriel’s becoming swayed by one of them as well.”

Uriel pushes Sandalphon to exit the booth and he does as he’s bid. Once Uriel is also free of the small confine, she turns, places both hands on the table and leans forward. Her nostrils flare and her eyes blaze with holy fire. “I think it would be best to finish this mission, reassimilate the traitor and cut ties with all demons from that day forth.”

With a smirk she pushes to walk away. “Less heartache for pushovers like you when we finally kill them all.”

* * *

**6:30AM**

Aziraphale hadn’t slept, in fact that’s something he’s only done for the first time ever recently. Obviously, he needs a certain redheaded demon holding him close in order to achieve such a feat.

That particular demon has been his only thought as the hours have ticked by. Yes, he saw Crowley with that that pretty angel, but maybe it wasn’t what Aziraphale had thought.

“Yes!” The angel removes designer shades, and places them gently on the coffee table. “My clever demon. I bet my left wing he was only performing some temptation in order to obtain information from Heaven!”

Aziraphale pauses, as if allowing God time to confirm. “Of course, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. The lovely creature is loyal to a fault.”

Rushing to the restroom, Aziraphale disrobes and starts the shower. “I’m sure it was some scheme of his to ensure my safety. My darling demon always putting me a head of his own happiness.”

Stepping into the warm stream, the angel feels his tension begin to fade. Normally he would prefer a bath to a shower, but today he needs to clean up quickly and find his way to the third-floor. “How ridiculous I have been not to see it earlier! His snide attitude was to stop me from ruining the guise he had built. Oh, I cannot wait to get him alone, for us both to apologize.”

Once fully washed and rinse, Aziraphale uses two quick miracles. One to dry himself, the other for a fresh change of clothes. His world is changing for the better, Aziraphale is feeling braver today. Why shouldn’t his wardrobe convey that?

“I hope I haven’t hurt him too badly.” Aziraphale frets, finishing the last button on his powder pink short-sleeve button down.

Crowley’s colors are red and black. Aziraphale isn’t comfortable with anything so bold, but pink is a form of red and more the angel’s template.

“I will make sure to do all in my power to make it up to him.” Aziraphale’s heart stutters at the things he has in mind. A seduction is in order, hence the short sleeve shirt. For Aziraphale the clothing choice is quite risqué.

Aziraphale admires his reflection and is somewhat pleased with what he sees. Sure, he’s no stunning beauty, but he currently looks the best he possibly can. He just hopes it’s good enough, as he makes his way through his accommodations to the door.

“Of course it will be.” Aziraphale laughs to himself, backing into the hallway and securing his door. “He loves me.”

“Yes, Gabriel does.” Aziraphale jumps at the sensation of a hand grasping his bare elbow. To his right stands Raphael, eyeing him curiously. “That _is_ who you were thinking about?”

The principality blinks, looking to the floor. _Who was I thinking about?_ “No, not Gabriel.”

“Really?” Raphael lifts his free hand and runs his index finger through the curls above Aziraphale’s ear. The act seems intimate, but Aziraphale doesn’t have the urge to bat him away. “Because Gabriel’s the only being here to tell me they love you.”

_No, no! Someone else has it said it, not just said it but showed it. Oh!_

“Crowley.” Aziraphale remembers, moving his head away from the fingers in his hair, but not breaking the hold on his elbow. “I need to apologize to Crowley. He loves me, yesterday was only a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, you poor, sweet creature.” Raphael places the hand that had been stroking Aziraphale’s hair over his heart. “Would you allow me to show you something?”

_No! I just want to go to Crowley. I don’t care what you say or what you show me._ Tears begin to well in the principalities eyes and he nods numbly.

“Yeah?” Raphael miracles the equivalent of a celestial iPad and steps behind Aziraphale. The archangel pulls the blond into him, so that Aziraphale’s back is flush against Raphael’s front, all the while whispering how good and beautiful Aziraphale is.

Raphael rests his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, hands out before the both of them so that they can share in the images on the screen.

“We have security cameras in all the hotel hallways.” Raphael nudges his nose against Aziraphale’s ear lobe. “This is footage from outside Crowley‘s room.“

Aziraphale watches in a daze. He suddenly has no energy to fight or pull away. Emotionally he is screaming, every part of his being shouting that he shouldn’t stay here, that he has somewhere more important to be.

“See the timestamp? You’d only be interrupting him right now.” Raphael points to the bottom left corner of the device, which indicates the image was recorded 20 minutes prior. From the top left of the screen, enters Crowley and the beautiful angel Aziraphale had seen with him the previous night at the bar.

“Orphiel.” Aziraphale gasps. _No, don’t show me this. It isn’t real._

“Yes.” Raphael presses himself closer, covering as much of Aziraphale’s body as possible with his own. “He doesn’t deserve you little bird. You lovely, soft thing. You deserve better than to be tossed aside so easily.”

_I know I’m soft, but am I lovely?_ Aziraphale nearly crumbles to the floor, when Crowley pushes Orphiel against his room’s door. The blond cries out in pain as the onscreen angel and demon begin lapping hungrily at the inside of the other’s mouth.

Raphael vanishes the device and uses both arms to keep Aziraphale on his feet. “Don’t cry gorgeous. You sweet, gentle, beautiful dove.”

“Does Gabriel think I’m gorgeous?” _Why am I asking that?_ Images of Crowley and Gabriel begin to intermingle in Aziraphale’s mind. The thoughts swirl about so violently, Aziraphale can’t remember what good recollections are associated with which being.

In turn, he doesn’t stop Raphael from herding him towards Gabriel’s suite.

“He does.” The archangel’s breath ghosts over the skin of Aziraphale’s throat. “The demon is only using you Aziraphale. Crowley has never loved you.”

“Crowley never loved me.” Aziraphale doesn’t feel entirely connected to reality right now. He can hear his own broken voice, but it sounds thousands of yards away.

Raphael knocks on Gabriel’s door. “Crowley will never love you.”

“Crowley will never love me.” Aziraphale’s sinking deeper, so much deeper. He just wants to be loved. He craves it. To be held by someone who loves him. _Wants_ him.

Aziraphale hears the deadbolt slide from the other side of the wood as Raphael prompts. “But who does love you?”

The door opens. Gabriel pulls Aziraphale from Raphael and gathers the entranced angel firmly to his chest.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, words muffled against Gabriel’s soft, cotton shirt. “Gabriel loves me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, with some help saves Aziraphale. The disposable demon is having a weird day.

**20 Minutes Earlier**

Crowley was surprised when they’d left him completely alone for the first time since his arrival. That was until he tried to leave the room and realized he was blocked from doing so.

Michael and Raphael had left at the same time around 5:30 AM. Crowley had crept to the door fifteen minutes after, making sure neither archangel would notice his departure. When he reached out to the doorknob, it had pushed his hand away as if the two were polar equals.

Crowley closed his eyes, trying to decipher what sort of ward had been placed on his door. He could sense it was locked from the other side, requiring the touch of a supernatural being on the outside to unlock his comfortably furnished cell.

Which leads to now, and Crowley pacing in front of the entranceway, moping and trying to think of any way to get to Aziraphale. He needs to let the angel know that Hastur is here and Michael knows of their swap, yet somehow seems not quite a threat. It’s confusing really the way Michael’s been behaving, and Aziraphale is always best at helping Crowley work out confusing puzzles.

But most importantly he needs Aziraphale to believe his intentions towards him are true. Crowley must find a way to break Aziraphale away from whatever brainwashing Gabriel has begun on him again.

The demon is startled from his thoughts by the sound of a large object hitting the outside of his door. He halts his pacing and waits, prepared for which ever angelic bastard he apparently has to put up with next.

After approximately 30 seconds, Crowley comes to the conclusion that whoever is out there isn’t coming in. But damn if they aren’t making a fair amount of noise against the door.

Moving to the entryway, Crowley peers through the one-way glass hole to see what looks to be two beings snogging full tilt on the other side.

The most jarring part? One of them looks just like him!

Crowley’s hand brushes the door knob, and he’s pleased to find the copy and their companion’s touches have unlocked whatever spell has been holding him inside.

Snatching the door open, the couple topple inside and fall rather inelegantly to the floor.

“Oi! What the fuck is this!?” Crowley is seething. He knows what the fuck this is, maybe not how it is, but definitely _what_ it is. This is why Aziraphale thinks he’s been unfaithful. Of course Crowley isn’t willing to kill anyone without having the decency of knowing their name first. “And _who_ the fuck are you?!”

“Well, right now I’m you, eh?” The other Crowley nervously chuckles, climbing to his feet and gestures to his snogging companion, who is struggling to stand as well. “And her too.”

“I’m not interested in her, arsehole, I’m interested in you and why you’re trying to fuck up my relationship.“ Real Crowley fists a handful of Fake Crowley‘s black dress shirt in his hands and lifts him off the floor.

“Put me down!” The tiny Snogging Angel screams pulling at Real Crowley’s arm.

“Yes, put me down!” Fake Crowley begs. “It was just orders. Can’t disobey orders, you know. Told to put on a show for Aziraphale to watch. Vi.. um, Raphael does a bit of brainwashing. Gabriel comes in to save the day and finally get his rocks off.” Fake Crowley’s eyes blow wide as Real Crowley tightens his grip and slams him against the wall. “C’mon! I’ve read your record. Spanish Inquisition, second world war. You saying you’ve never pulled a bit of deceit to get in that principality’s pants?”

“Does Gabriel have him now?” Real Crowley hisses through gritted teeth.

“Most likely, yes.” Fake Crowley gulps, Snogging Angel continues to tug at Real Crowley’s arm.

“Get out your cellphone.” Real Crowley demands, dropping his prey.

“What?” Yellow eyes blink back at him confused. Real Crowley snarls, fangs elongating past his lower lip.

Fake Crowley throws his hands in front of himself, and nods to Snogging Angel. She produces a shiny device and taps a contact. As she begins to lift it to her ear, Real Crowley snatches it, leaving a bit of final instructions. “When I’m gone, hang it up.”

“Wha?” But before either Fake Crowley or Snogging Angel can respond, Real Crowley is gone.

* * *

“I fucking hate my job!” Crowley/Eric screams in the direction of Orphiel/Eric. He hadn’t been stuck playing both parts last time. In the bar, he got to be just Orphiel and make out with Vice. Quite the privilege for a demon of his low rank.

He hangs up the phone just as Real Crowley had asked and pops the Eric/Crowley away. Better to run the halls as a made up angel, than the second most talked about demon in the hotel.

Eric doesn’t lock up behind himself, his only frantic thought being. _Find help!_

Then, as if Satan had personally answered his prayer, he spots Hastur.

“Help! I need help! I messed up!” Eric cringes. There’s a chance Hastur might discorporate him. It’s happened many times before, but the Duke is also very likely to stop whatever the low-ranking demon has set into motion. Which would mean, no holy water bath.

“What?” Hastur disguised as Halriel, looks from Eric to Crowley‘s open door and back. Terror edging its way across his fake angelic face. “Satan. Eric, what did you do?”

“Was the star of a video. You know the ‘trick the traitor angel and git ‘im to fuck Gabriel show’?” Eric rushes out the sentence in a single breath. “But then Crowley caught me, made me dial Gabriel’s number, went all pixelly and disappeared to the phone.”

“Lord Lucifer, he’s going to get himself killed.” Hastur mumbles to himself. Louder and directed to Eric he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this. Just stay out of the fucking way”

Hastur runs off towards the stairwell instead of taking the lift, and Eric can’t help feeling grateful and flattered. The Duke is so keen on helping him, Eric’s hard work must finally be getting noticed.

Smiling with pride and relief, the demon takes the lift down to the lobby and the bar. He feels like a drink.

* * *

“Your Majesty.” Hastur pants into his cellphone, while booking it up four flights of stairs. “Gabriel and Vice have done something to Aziraphale. Crowley’s run off half_cocked to save him. We need to cause a diversion so that Mr. Slick doesn’t get himself killed.“

“Let me handle it.” She says hurriedly. “If _you_ go charging up there, he’ll suspect something. Hopefully Gabriel still sees me as a sister figure. If he does, he’ll be more likely to trust my intentions over yours.”

“ _If_ he does?” Hastur doesn’t slow his incline.

“Uriel said something troubling.” There is the sound of a door clicking behind her. “Just stay away, I don’t want to risk more heat on you. Go to the lobby and be prepared to flee if you don’t hear back for me in the next hour.”

“Michael, I think you need to talk to me.” Hastur wants to make amends for his mistakes with Crowley, but he’d much rather keep Michael from being snuffed from his life like Ligur has been. “Listen Queenie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m growing quite fond of you. I’d like you safe first and foremost.”

“And I you.” Her voice is warm, and _this_ is a conversation Hastur would very much like to continue. Instead, she cuts him off. “Now go to the lobby, I’ll call when I’m safe, but if you don’t hear for me in the next 60 minutes, do as I’ve said.”

The line goes dead. Hastur stops and turns to go back down the stairwell. Michael is right, he’ll only end up getting them both placed under suspicion. He growls under his breath. “Bloody Heaven.”

* * *

Yes, Crowley knows it had been impulsive, blowing full tilt into the phone line towards Gabriel. What if the archangel’s cell is in his back pocket? Hell, anywhere in the room with him? Crowley will again face the same fate from which Michael and Hastur had just saved him.

Parts of Crowley‘s body pixelate as he knocks into passing lines of media. He barely notices, as his thoughts shift to the information at hand. Raphael has brainwashed Aziraphale and Gabriel is going to use that advantage to.....to do things. The idea throws the demon into another bout of blinding rage and he no longer cares if he dies, just so long as he can take Gabriel and Raphael with him.

Ahead he can see his goal. The portal is open, a rainbow of flashing colors highlighting the outer rim of the circular pathway. Crowley tenses, preparing himself for whatever scuffle awaits him, as he allows the pull of the call to guide him to his destination.

His body breaks apart one last time, atoms splitting and mending as he leaves the electronic and finds himself in a large opulent bedroom. Thank Satan, Gabriel has left his phone beside his bed, ringer off.

Crowley creeps to the door, which had, luckily, been left open a smidge. The demon peers out into a sitting room that looks exactly like the one in Aziraphale’s suite, only reversed. He remembers Gabriel mentioning that he and Aziraphale are neighbors. The thought of the purple eyed bastard so close to his angel, while Crowley is forced to be four floors away, makes the demon’s skin crawl.

There’s a hard knock on Gabriel’s door, and Crowley spies the himbo as he moves to open it. When he does, Crowley catches sight of Aziraphale with Raphael wrapped around his back and whispering in his ear.

The redhead’s upper body hackles, ready to attack as the archangel pulls the principality to his chest. But then he hears Aziraphale, in such a heartbreakingly sweet tone, utter. “Gabriel loves me.”

The demon freezes. The wind is knocked out of him and he suddenly feels like he has lead in his stomach _. Does Aziraphale want this?_

“I do.” Gabriel holds The principality close, one hand cupping the back of blond curls, the other at the small of the angel’s back.

Gabriel turns the both of them away from the door and leads Aziraphale through the sitting room. Raphael gives a small wave before closing the door and disappearing from sight.

“Do you love me?” Gabriel moves his hands to hold tightly at Aziraphale’s biceps, maneuvering them both toward the bedroom and Crowley!

The demon whips around and as quietly as possible rushes into the closet. It’s a large walk-in with one of those wooden, sideways, foldy doors with the slats you can see through, that Crowley has no idea what they’re called.

He closes the foldy door and watches through the slats as Gabriel pushes Aziraphale towards the bed. The archangel turns on the bedside lamp and lays his subordinate across the duvet.

“What?” Aziraphale tries to set up, but Gabriel forces him back against the covers.

“I asked, do you love me?” Gabriel looms over him. Aziraphale blinks, he looks like someone trying to awake from a troublesome dream.

“No.” Aziraphale shakes his head. “No, I’m so sorry.”

“Why not?” Gabriel‘s voice is calm. For the most part it sounds gentle, but there’s a bite to it. A temptation almost.

“I just don’t.” Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbles. His brow and the sides of his eyes crinkle, and Crowley knows the angel is going to cry. “It’s not something I can control. Someone already has my heart and no matter how much it hurts me right now, I’m incapable of taking it back.”

“You denied me repeatedly before you’d met him.” Gabriel smooths a hand through Aziraphale’s curls. “You could’ve saved yourself this pain if you had just accepted my offer then. If you let go of him now, and cling to me, your pain will leave you.”

“But I don’t want to let him go.” His Angel is crying. Crowley’s heart swells with love and breaks for Aziraphale simultaneously. “And I’ve always loved him. Even in the time before. We were together then too. Thought you knew that. Always suspected that’s why you made him Fall.”

Crowley stops breathing. _Aziraphale remembers._ He had always assumed the angel’s memory had been wiped, just as they tried to wipe Crowley’s and failed.

“How do you remember that?” Gabriel’s grip hardens on Aziraphale’s shoulder, causing him to gasp, and Crowley to flinch in sympathy. Realizing himself, the archangel shakes his head and loosens his hold. “Doesn’t matter.” He waves his hand in the air as if to wave the thought away. “Please, let me make you happy. Let me help you forget him. It’s obvious he doesn’t love you. These last few days are proof of that.”

There’s a loud pounding on the suite’s outer door, causing Crowley to startle and bounce his head against the wall behind him. Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice, too busy glaring through the bedroom door and out into the sitting room at the entryway. Aziraphale stops crying, his eyes dart in Crowley’s direction, then back to Gabriel.

“Perhaps you’re right darling.” Aziraphale places his index finger to the side of Gabriel‘s chin and turns the archangel’s head to face him. “You would be so much better to me, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale coos and Crowley can feel the jealousy surging up like vomit.

**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**

“I would.” Gabriel, now the one being tempted, says breathily, completely ignoring the door. Michael’s voice can be heard calling for him between the knocking.

“Then won’t you be patient with me?” Aziraphale stares up at him innocently. “Give me time to sort myself out?”

“Gabriel!” Michael calls out through the wood and 40 feet of living space. “This is important, or I wouldn’t be bothering you!”

“Sure.” Gabriel’s words come out husky. “But don’t make me wait too long.”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale leans up and places a chaste kiss to Gabriel’s cheek. He smiles brightly as his superior rises to his feet and hurries off to answer Michael’s call.

The moment the archangel is out of the room, Aziraphale’s smile vanishes, and the look is replaced with panic. He scrambles to the closet, opens the door and falls to his knees in front of Crowley.

“What are you doing in here?” Aziraphale practically hisses. “If he catches you, he’ll kill you.”

“I had to save you.” Crowley wants to pull Aziraphale close and kiss him silly, but he’s not sure that will be welcome right now. “Other Me said Raphael was going to brainwash you, and Gabriel was going to try and, I quote, ‘get his rocks off.’” Crowley really does want to vomit now.

“That explains why my mind got so muddled when Raphael was touching me. He was replacing you in my memories of us together with Gabriel.” Aziraphale nods slowly, eyes drawn down in concentration. Then suddenly his head snaps up. “Other you?”

“Yeah, there’s some guy here, looks just like me.” Crowley searches his Angel’s face, hoping upon hope Aziraphale believes him. “Not sure if it’s magic or cloning or whatever crazy shit Heaven is into now.” Crowley in a moment of desperate bravery cups his palm over Aziraphale’s cheek. “My doppelgänger. Oh shit! Could it be a doppelgänger?”

“Focus dear, I feel as if you were going somewhere else with this, and I’d like to hear it.” Aziraphale pauses. “But I’ll take that last bit into consideration and read up on doppelgängers to be safe.”

“Thanks.” Crowley swallows. “Anyway, my copy told me Gabriel and Raphael have him acting out bad behavior just for you to see.”

“Oh, my dearest. Do you know how very badly I hope that’s true?” The Angel studies Crowley, looking for any clue that this too is a lie.

“It’s true, Angel. Tell me what you want. What you _need_ to believe me.”

Aziraphale leans in closer. “Let me feel your love.”

Before Crowley can react, he has an arm full of angel and soft, pink, heart shaped lips against his own.

Aziraphale is kissing him! Actually, kissing him! So, Crowley kisses back, hungry and full of 6000 years of love. His angel wants this, is asking Crowley to give him every emotion he’s kept secret for millennia

The wave of emotions cascade upward from Crowley‘s chest, into his throat and onto his tongue.

_I love you, I love you, I love you_. He repeats over and over in his mind, his tongue teasing the angel’s lips, begging for more access. For a way to push his emotions into that lovely warm space.

After much too short of time, Aziraphale breaks the kiss. Both of them breathless, their foreheads pressed together and hands entwined.

“Do you believe me, Angel?” The demons voice is low and filled with need.

Aziraphale giggles and kisses him on the tip of the nose. “I do darling. I truly, truly do.” He pulls back to look at the bedroom door. “But you and I need to get out of here while Gabriel's distracted with Michael.”

“Send me back through the phone line.” Crowley runs his fingers oh so gently through Aziraphale’s curls. The angel blushes, a bashful smile crossing his face. “You head out the front. Less conspicuous that way. Hell, tell Michael you’re pleased to see her, that you have something to discuss with her. I actually think she’s rooting for us.”

“What?” Blue eyes blow wide with surprise.

“No time to explain. We need to get you away from Gabriel.” Crowley stands, pulling Aziraphale with him. “Michael hasn’t had time to explain what she’s up to, but I think it’s good. Stick to her like glue, you’ll be safer with her than you will be Raphael or Gabriel.”

Aziraphale shivers. “Yes, their intent for me was very clear.”

“I wouldn’t have let him hurt you, I swear. Let’s go.” Crowley offers Gabriel’s cell to Aziraphale. “Dial the last incoming call.”

Aziraphale taps the button, Crowley kisses him one more time, and then he’s gone.

* * *

Hastur is pacing the lobby when Eric catches back up with him. The lesser demon gushing over the Duke’s vile awfulness and laying the compliments on thick.

Hastur is uninterested, more focused on wanting his phone to ring, or for Michael to appear in the lobby. Anything to know she’s safe. To Hastur’s dismay, it’s Eric’s phone which rings first.

That dismay is quickly turned to surprise when Eric doesn’t get the chance to raise the phone to his ear. The moment he slides to accept the call, Crowley collides with him full force, both demons toppling onto the floor.

“Sorry.” Crowley reaches to help the bewildered angel looking demon off the floor. “Oh, it’s you. Not sorry after all.’ The skinny redhead releases Eric allowing him to crash again to the floor. He swings his head from side to side as he turns to better take in the room. The moment he spots Hastur, Crowley lights up like a child on their birthday and gestures excitedly for the Duke to follow. “Oh! Halriel! Mate, come with me, I’ve got a lot of questions for you to answer.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go sideways.

Jesus isn’t sure how long it’s been since his and Balog‘s last session, but it feels like years. He knows the time moves differently in Hell. Similarly to how it works in Heaven as a matter of fact. What is a minute on earth, can stretch on a week or more here.

There’s been a lot of activity in his cell since Jesus had encountered his torturer last. A crew of demons had removed the vat of vile grossness and replaced it with a large flat screen television. The behemoth covers one of the cell’s walls in it’s entirety.

The wash basin near the door has also been removed, but that damn dagger is still present, only now moved to where the washbasin had been. Alongside the dagger, a television remote.

Jesus is aware of what Hell wants. They want him to switch on the box, and that’s exactly why he refuses to do so. Instead, he passes his time sleeping or jabbing the dagger at the stone walls, causing small gravel to accumulate on the floor. Out of boredom and spite, Jesus replaces the dagger to its place beside the door and begins throwing the pebbles at the flatscreen. The goal, see how much damage she can do before someone comes into reprimand him. The answer is, not long and to Jesus’ surprise, today’s visitor is not Balog.

“You spoiled, entitled brat!” Vice storms through the cell door and takes him firmly by the arm. “Oh, my fucking Satan, are you sure you and Crowley aren’t actually siblings? You assholes act exactly alike!”

“Maybe.” Jesus shrugs. “Never could understand why my Mother caused his Fall and then lifted me to greatness. Considering we’re practically twins in spirit.”

“You know, it amazes me how no one seems to know or remember how the Fall actually took place.” Vice cocks their head to the side and studies Jesus. “I mean, you’d think someone would know.”

Vice snaps the fingers of their freehand and a small loveseat appears. They pull Jesus onto the cushion beside them and make a beckoning motion with her index finger. In response, the remote sails across the room like a bullet. Vice catching it centimeters from Jesus’ temple.

“So.” Jesus swallows thickly, attempting at aloof. “To what do I owe the honor of entertaining a Lord of Hell, rather than my usual tormentor?”

“From my observation, Balog isn’t as efficient as she claims to be. We’re running out of time, and I need you dead fairly soon.” Vice slings their arm across the back of the sofa. “Orders from Satan himself. He wants you out of the picture, but says it has to happen by your own choice.” They curl the side of their nose and flick on the tube. “Boss still has a major hard on for that freewill shit.”

“Well, with all his faults, at least Satan isn’t a hypocrite.” Jesus looks directly ahead to the screen, hoping he seems unaffected.

“That’s right.” Vice chuckles. “You lost your shit. Started flipping over tables and making a scene. I remember the story.”

“There was more to that day than just hypocrisy.” Jesus protests, never looking from the television.

“Yeah, I heard the unofficial version too. A group of Pharisees threaten your boyfriend, didn’t they?” Vice’s midnight eyes bore into the side of Jesus’ head.

“They did.” Jesus sniffs and sets up taller. “They couldn’t confirm, but they suspected something between us. Then when I saw the way those same bastards are exploiting the poor in my Mother’s name, I lost myself.”

“You know.” Vice’s elbow rests on the arm of the loveseat, their hand cups the back of their head supporting it as they look Jesus over appreciatively. “Against my better judgment, I really like you.”

“Then can I ask why you need me dead?” Jesus finally turns his head to return their gaze. “What’s so important that Heaven and Hell would risk my Mother’s wrath?”

“Okay.” Vice pushes themself off the armrest, pulls their leg onto the cushion and turns to face Jesus full on. They lean in, hands gripping the leg crooked in front of them. “That’s the other part of why I’m here instead of Balog. Satan said we’d get to watch the last few moments of your dear John’s existence. Not life, mind you, existence.”

“What?” Jesus feels the rocking waves of nausea take him over.

“Not finished.” Vice holds up a long boney finger. “And, if I’m successful, I get promoted above Beelzebub.” They grip Jesus’ shoulders. “Isn’t this exciting?”

“What did you do?! What did you assholes do?!” Jesus lunges toward the fallen archangel and finds himself stopped short. With another snap Vice has him chained to the floor. Jesus nearly dislocates his wrist, as the sudden appearance of his shackles yank him back. Unable to get his hands on the scrawny rat beside him, Jesus settles for snarling in Vice’s direction. “I’ll kill you.”

“That won’t do any good, but killing _yourself._ ” Vice taps their nose with their index finger. “Now, that’s what will make the magic happen.”

* * *

Eric gapes in open mouthed confusion as Crowley excitedly invites Hastur to follow him from the lobby.

“Why are you down here? And in the floor?” Eric whips his head back to see Vice hovering above him in Raphael form.

“No reason.” Eric, nimble as he is, leaps to his feet. He really hopes Vice doesn’t question him too much. Last thing he needs is a pissed off Lord of Hell finding out about his fuck up.

“So that interaction between you and Hastur in the hallway outside of Crowley‘s room was just a friendly talk?“ Eric doesn’t like the predatory way he’s being watched. Vice stretches out their hand and skims their fingers over the little demon’s cheekbone. “Didn’t think the two of you were super chummy.”

“We’re not.” Eric feels himself relax fully for the first time that evening. “He was helping me fix somethin’.”

“Think you could tell me about it?” Vice’s voice is smooth like honey, and it doesn’t help Eric‘s resolve that he’s always found this particular Lord enticing in any form. “I promise you won’t get into any trouble. You’re such a bad, naughty thing, you know?“

Eric closes his eyes. He does feel bad and he likes the way the word naughty drips off Vice’s tongue. Melting into the touches and craving more, he spills every detail, from getting caught by Crowley, to Hastur agreeing to help and ending with the interaction between Hastur and Crowley moments before Vice’s arrival.

“Thank you for that.” Vice pulls Eric into an embrace, the Lord’s lips against his ear. “I’m going to let you in on some classified information, and then ask you to commit yourself to something very important. If you succeed, I plan to reward you however you see fit.”

Eric knows exactly what he wants and enthusiastically nods. “Whatever you need from me Your Disgrace.”

They walk together into the lift. Once alone, Eric can feel the effects of his body shifting. He grows taller, more muscular, his anatomy again morphing into a male form. He catches his reflection, no, Jesus’ reflection in the lifts metal doors.

* * *

Aziraphale waited as the person on the other end of the line picked up. When he heard jostling and Crowley‘s voice through the speaker, he ended the call. The angel couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy stabbing needles into his heart as he caught sight of the contact name.

“Orphiel.” He sets the celestial phone back onto it’s place on Gabriel’s nightstand. “I’m sure it’s all perfectly explainable.”

Aziraphale will definitely question Crowley about it when he sees him again. For now, he smoothes the lines of his wrinkled shirt and steps into the sitting room of the suite.

“Yes, Raphael discussed with me just an hour ago, that he believes we have a couple traitors in our ranks.” Gabriel’s back is to Aziraphale as he enters the room.

“Right.” Michael glances over Gabriel’s shoulder and nods to the principality in greeting. “Because no matter what Uriel and Sandalphon claim, any fraternizing I’ve done is for the same purposes as your use of connections. It’s her I believe we need to keep a close eye on.”

“Of course, Michael.” Gabriel lays a firm hand on her shoulder. “You need not worry any longer. I will personally handle any sort of dissension in the ranks.”

“Is everything okay?” Aziraphale sucks in a deep breath, glancing between the two archangels. He smiles pleasantly when Gabriel turns to face him.

“Yes sunshine.” Gabriel hold a hand out to him, and Aziraphale obliges. He permits the taller angel to pull him closely to his side. “Everything is fine.”

Gabriel dips down to kiss him on the cheek, and Aziraphale forces a nervous smile. Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice Aziraphale’s tension, but Michael does. It’s the first time in all of existence Aziraphale has seen her look genuinely concerned.

“I’m glad you’re here Aziraphale.” Michael takes on her normal expression of stone-cold professionalism. “Do you mind if I steal the principality for a bit to brief him on this evening’s plans?”

“I think I’d like to tell him myself.” Gabriel wraps an arm around Aziraphale possessively. “We were in the middle of something when you arrived.”

Aziraphale looks to Michael, pleading with his eyes. He doesn’t want to be alone with Gabriel. He doesn’t want to do the things Gabriel wants him to do.

And Aziraphale also needs to speak to a trusted archangel alone. Something happens to his free will when Raphael is around and causes Aziraphale to lose himself. Gabriel seems to be under the impression it should continue when Raphael is gone. It doesn’t. Aziraphale wants to understand it, so that he can combat it in Raphael’s presence as well.

**KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK**

Gabriel’s upper lip curls above his teeth. “Yes?!”

Aziraphale folds in on himself at the vicious bite in Gabriel’s tone.

The door opens without a proper invitation and Raphael steps inside. “I have excellent news.”

“Can’t it wait?” Violet eyes flash, and it takes all of Aziraphale’s willpower not to quake. “Michael was just about to leave, and I planned to discuss Aziraphale’s action plan one on one.”

“Oh, about the rescue endeavor?” Raphael waves his hand in front of himself as if shooing away a pest. “Well no worries on that front, it is already been handled.” He brushes his long dark hair out of his face and turns in a grand gesture towards the doorway. “In fact.”

As if on cue, Jesus rounds the door frame and steps into view. The young man looks the same as he had roughly 2000 years ago. Tall, muscular, with smooth dark skin and full curly hair. He’s handsome, lovely and the exact opposite of everything Aziraphale feels he himself to be.

Crowley is most likely stringing him along as a back-up. Probably doing the same with Orphiel. How can anyone as seductive and perfect as Crowley want anything so fussy and soft as Aziraphale when this beautiful god of a man is an option?

In the past when Jesus was near, Crowley was always away. Off with the demigod, enjoying his company above that of Aziraphale’s. But Gabriel has always wanted Aziraphale first and foremost.

“Michael, why don’t you take Aziraphale back to his room so Raphael, Jesus and I can talk?” Gabriel releases his hold on Aziraphale and nudges him towards Michael.

“Are you sure?” All of Aziraphale’s earlier fears and disgust are gone. He now wants nothing more than to stay at Gabriel’s side.

“Oh, sunshine.” Gabriel skims his fingers through the fluff of platinum over Aziraphale’s ear. “I’ll come get you the moment all of this is sorted out.“ He presses his lips to Aziraphale’s and the blond’s body responds in turn. “We can send that nasty demon on his way and you can come home with me. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Aziraphale sighs, feeling warm and dreamy. “I’d like that.”

“Come then Aziraphale.” Michael grabs him by the wrist and pulls him to the door. “Do you want me to let Crowley know, or should you?”

“You do it Michael.” Gabriel calls as she shuts the door. “He doesn’t need the influence of that filth any longer.”

“Yes sir.” The latch clicks behind them, she drags Aziraphale into the lift, and slams her hand against the button for the third floor. Taking her former subordinate by the shoulders, Michael gives him a slight shake. “Aziraphale, snap out of it. Wake up.”

“Gabriel said to go to my room.” He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this. There is something pulling at the edges of his mind telling him she’s right, telling him to listen. But it’s weak and he does so want to please Gabriel.

“Urgh!” Michael releases him, throwing her head back. “I need to get you to Crowley.”

Aziraphale and Michael are jostled into one another as the lift grounds to a halt, trapped suddenly between floors.

* * *

Hastur had informed Crowley of his true identity as the duo ran up the stairwell to the seventh floor. It seemed safer to take this route than the lift, less of a chance of running into other angels and demons.

Crowley wanted to go directly to Aziraphale’s room but Hastur felt they wouldn’t be safe there, not after Eric had seen them run off together. For that same reason it was decided neither of their rooms would be safe either, which is why they now wait on the sofa in Michael’s suite.

“So, Michael’s going to meet us here?” Crowley stretches his neck in an attempt to see the screen of Hastur’s celestial phone.

“Last message she sent said that was the plan.” Hastur stares at the device, and Crowley recognizes that look. It’s the look of a demon wanting desperately to protect his angel and waiting for confirmation of his next move.

“And then what?”

“And then.” Hastur drops the device onto the cushion beside him and rubs his eyes. “We get us and our angels out of here and somewhere safe.”

“What about Jesus?” Crowley agrees his first priority is to get Aziraphale to safety, but if his friend is in trouble Crowley can’t just desert him.

“From what we’ve been told, Jesus is in on this.”

Crowley snarls. “That’s another load of Gabriel and Raphael’s shit.”

“Listen it’s been 2000 years. Look at how much I’ve changed in less than one.” Hastur’s eyes again trained on the phone beside his thigh. “And you seem to trust me.”

_Still up for debate. You and Michael just seemed lesser than all the other evils._

“There’s something else you should know.” Hastur starts, looking up to catch Crowley’s gaze. “It’s about Raph....”

Hastur stops, seemingly frozen in place. Crowley jumps when the silence is broken by a hurried rapping at the door.

Crowley waits silently, stricken with fear. _They’ve found us out._ _We were so close to getting away and they’ve found us out._

He thinks of Aziraphale and where his Angel might be, or who might be with him. Crowley hopes his Angel has escaped, the idea that Gabriel may have him, and of what the arrogant wanker could be doing to Aziraphale sets Crowley’s blood on fire. The images enough to burn away the demon’s fears, setting his resolve on a fight instead.

Crowley stands, stalking past Hastur and to whoever is insistently beating against the door. He will die fighting on the threshold of Michael’s suite before he allows the archangel fucking Gabriel to lay a filthy finger on the love of his life.

Claws and fangs extended, Crowley yanks open the door. He halts mid-swipe, confusion and relief taking over. “Yeshua?”

“I go by Jesus now, remember?” The demigod smirks holding his hands up in surrender. “Look mate, Hastur and Michael have been lying to you.”

“Wot?” Crowley staggers. He does his damndest to regain some equilibrium, as this emotional roller coaster takes him around another loop.

“No time to explain.” Jesus turns, gesturing for him to follow. “I’m taking you to Aziraphale.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get very, very bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the chapter I warned you all about in the beginning. I love you all, you’ve been warned. Take care of yourselves first and foremost, and to those who are going to jump on in, I hope you enjoy ❤️

**Tartarus, Hell, not a while and yet quite a while earlier**

"Before we begin." Vice lifts their left hand and makes another 'come hither' gesture with their index finger. This time, something much deadlier than a remote control whizzes across the room and into Vice's grasp. They scoot uncomfortably close to Jesus and press the dagger into his hand. "This is for when you're ready."

"You'll be waiting a long time." Jesus turns the blade, watching it glint in the yellow light of the cell. If he hadn’t known it was his means to destruction, he might’ve been prone to believe it was beautiful. The blade curves like a claw, and two sharp, serrated cuts in the metal point back toward the hilt. A weapon like this won't only cause damage going into it's victim, but even more so when coming out.

The handle is a smooth, crimson stone, carved to look like a dragon, the blade protruding from it's open mouth like flames. The creature's webbed wings are spread, it’s legs tucked beneath it's underside along with the tail.

"Hmmmm." The noise comes out a bit higher than Vice's normal tone. The demon shrugs with too much mirth in their smile. "I guess that all depends on how much you actually love him."

Jesus can't be certain if his building dread is caused by being in the lowest pit of Hell, or because his subconscious is already aware of something horrible that his conscious mind hasn't yet become privy. He has a sinking feeling it's the latter.

He and Yochanan….John. The new name is so odd, yet so fitting. John the Beloved the Christians call him, and he is. He's so very beloved.

The two of them share a bond that very few have in all of the universe's history. Jesus could always sense John, but all of that stopped around four decades after Jesus' ascension.

There had been no one Jesus could ask as to why the connection had broke. He had feared the questions it would bring upon himself and the possible punishment it might incur on his beloved if the archangels were to discover he had broken his orders of celibacy and not falling in love.

"You already suspect where this is going, don't you?" Vice leans as near as possible, while remaining outside of the daggers reach. "Before I begin the show, I need to ask. Have you read any of the New Testament?"

"Read a bit." Jesus faces the metal in his hands while watching Vice from the corner of his eye. "There was a bible in my hotel room on this most recent visit to earth. Looked through the book John had written."

"Oh, good, then I get to tell you a story." Vice's lips part further to show a disturbingly toothy smile. "The last book in the collection is called Revelations."

"Isn't that the book of predictions my demon brother and his angel fucked over?" Jesus tilts his head, allowing Vice to see his smirk.

"It is." To Jesus' disappointment, Vice doesn't seem bothered by his question, in fact they look all the more smug. "Better known to our kind as the Great Plan, it was dictated directly from the mouth of the Archangel Uriel, to a lovely former fisherman. A man devoted to you more than any of the other disciples. A man who by day was beaten, starved and tortured on an island called Patmos. A prisoner for the majority of his adult life, all because of how dearly and deeply he cared for you."

"John wrote Revelations?" _Why, of all of my followers, would the archangels choose him?_ Jesus already knows the answer before he asks. "Gabriel knew about us, didn't he?"

"He did, so he sent Uriel to show your sweetheart the envisioned end of the world and Aziraphale to pick up the finished product." Vice leans against the armrest, and waits.

"Aziraphale was involved in all of this?" Jesus' grip tenses around the stone dragon.

"Not in the way the others were. Aziraphale was there as the hapless tool he's always been. He knew John was one of your disciples, but he didn't know you were fucking. The principality was so enamored with your pet's writing he requested a copy." Vice cackles. "And would you believe, your gullible ass of a boyfriend not only made him a copy but autographed it!" They shake their head and sling their legs over the back of the sofa. "As much as you and Crowley are alike, your soft, naïve, pursuits are nearly mirrors of one another as well."

"He died there, on Patmos. I'm assuming." Jesus looks away from the demon, he doesn't want Vice to see his fear. "What happened to him after that? I couldn't find him in Heaven."

"You're really going to enjoy the program we are about to watch." Vice points the remote at the flat screen. "Ready for all your questions to be answered?"

"Not so sure.” Jesus mumbles as the box comes to life.

"I'm not gonna deny it, it's gonna get _real_ bad." They nudge Jesus' leg with their toe. "But no worries, you're gonna get a chance to save him in the end.”

* * *

Aziraphale is flung against Michael as the lift grinds to a halt. Before he has the chance to move out of her space, the archangel's hands are on each of the principality's temples. Michael imbues him with the healing energy to clear the fog in his brain and replace the false memories Vice has planted with the truth.

"Oh God! Oh God!" Aziraphale clutches the buttons of his shirt, obviously horrified.

"Do I have you back, Aziraphale?" Michael removes her hands from the sides of his head and rests them steadily on his shoulders.

"Yes." Aziraphale nods, releasing his shirt, and smoothing his hands down the rumpled fabric. "Thank you. I'm rather ashamed of the things I was thinking. Raphael, I fear, has been using his powers to alter my mind."

"It's Gabriel and Vice who should be ashamed for what they nearly forced you to do." She slides her hands from his shoulders and steps away. Her blood runs cold as she realizes the blond is frozen in place. "Aziraphale?"

The lift jerks, rising slightly and with a ding the metal doors part. Michael panics as she is faced with herself, Beelzebub and Dagon who has Hastur’s back pressed against her chest. Dagon’s gloved hand is holding the hilt of a celestial dagger, the blade held firmly to Hastur's throat.

"What's the meaning of this?" Michael steps toward the demon she’s finding herself falling in love with and the assholes holding him captive. Hastur is begging with his eyes and she knows what he's asking. _Deny me. Save yourself._

"You and Gabriel are gonna switch out for a bit." Beelzebub tilts their head, indicating the other Michael beside them. "Unless of course you'd like to watch Hastur die? I know I would."

Hastur nods and mouths the word _"Run."_

Michael shakes her head at Hastur's request before turning to face Gabriel. "Everything I told you about Uriel and Sandalphon is true. They'll report you to the High Council same as they will me and Hastur. It's better we all work together to stop that threat first."

"I've already taken care of Sandalphon and Uriel." Gabriel's asshole smile is unsettling on Michael's own face. "You'll both be seeing them soon."

"Aziraphale won't believe anything you’re thinking of feeding him. He already knows you're up to something. Vice's attempts at mind control clued him in." Michael places her body between Aziraphale's and their enemies. "Vice isn't powerful enough to control him like they can others. Aziraphale's love for Crowley is able to break through their spell. No evil influence can overtake something as strong as true love, and now that he's aware of your tactics, you'll never convince him to betray Crowley and be with you."

"Cuff up." Beelzebub moves forward, snapping the shackles around Michael's wrists. The archangel doesn't fight, her eyes focused on the blade pressing dangerously hard against Hastur's skin.

"Michael's right." Hastur pants. "Should've stuck with your nice guy routine. You've fucked this up too much to convince him now."

"Trust me, I can convince him. Vice and I have already worked out a story." Gabriel steps to Aziraphale's stilled form, running his hands along the principality's body. "A few lies, but mostly the truth with some names changed." Michael wishes she was unshackled, and hears Hastur growl beside her at the inappropriate places her clone is placing it's hands. "Make Vice and Crowley the villians, and me the hero. Say they had been betrothed same as myself and Aziraphale. Vice won't mind, because it'll make what they've planned all the more convincing."

Beelzebub nods. "I'll send you the signal when Vice unstops time. The plan is for it to happen once Crowley is in his room. We'll restart the lift once they have had enough time to get Crowley into position.” The smile that crosses their face is nothing short of evil. With a tug and a sneer they yank Michael down the hall. "Time to go _Your Majesty_."

"Fuck off." Hastur croaks.

"Please stop." Michael says softly. She looks to Hastur imploringly and hopes he understands _. I'll get us through this. Don't get yourself destroyed. I can't lose you too._

* * *

"Where is Aziraphale?" Crowley shakes himself free of his stupor. "And how are you here? I thought Hell had you."

"He's in your room. I've stopped time for everyone but Aziraphale, you and myself, so he's safe there." Jesus takes Crowley's hand and pulls him towards the stairwell. "And I was never taken. I've been in Heaven all this time, but then I caught wind of what Gabriel and Raphael were planning, so I hurried here to find you and Aziraphale."

“Since when can you stop time?” Crowley glances back to Michael’s room as the metal door to the stairwell slams behind him. “That’s a skill that has only ever been granted to two archangels, one Fallen and the other MIA until a few weeks ago.”

“Learned me some new tricks in Heaven.” Jesus drops his hold on Crowley as the two descend the steps. “I spent centuries searching for Yochanan to no avail. So, I started reading in Heaven’s library, trying to find what might’ve happened to him.” He lowers his gaze to his feet. “That turned out to be a waste, the only thing I could find is that they call him John now. But I was able to learn a few tricks from my studies. Good thing the other archangels don’t read.”

“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen or heard anything of him since he went to Patmos.” Crowley places a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But I’ll catch you up on everything I do know between your ascension and Patmos, once were all safe. If that’ll help?”

“Yes it will. Least I know he’s not in hell.” Jesus throws Crowley a weak smile and the demon gives the demigod’s shoulder a brotherly squeeze before removing his hand.

They continue the trek in silence, Crowley’s anticipation building at the thought of not just seeing Aziraphale but getting them both out of this nightmare. After what feels like a lifetime they stand outside Crowley‘s room.

“I’m leaving time stopped while I go get a jet ready.” Jesus slips the key card into the slot on the door. The wood swings back, inviting Crowley to enter. “This means the two of you won’t be disturbed until I return in an hour.”

“Won’t be disturbed?” Crowley‘s heart jumps into his throat at his friend’s insinuation.

“Aziraphale’s idea.” Jesus smiles knowingly. “He said too much as happened these last few days, that he thought he’d lost you more than once in that time. Said he doesn’t want to wait a moment longer to claim you.”

“Oh, shit.” Crowley‘s legs turned to jelly. He’s wanted this for so fucking long.

“Have fun.” Jesus closes the door, leaving Crowley to steady himself against the wall.

* * *

“Do I have you back Aziraphale?” Michael’s hands fall from the sides of his head, and plant firmly on his shoulders.

“Yes.” Aziraphale is beyond mortified by the thought she had help dislodge from his brain. “Thank you. I'm rather ashamed of the things I was thinking. Raphael, I fear, has been using his powers to alter my mind."

“That evil bastard.” Michael now stands beside the lift’s control panel, pressing the emergency button. Aziraphale feels a bit off-center, as he is certain he hadn’t seen her move from in front of him. She had stood before him one moment and was a meter away the next. “I wasn’t aware just how destructive and devious ‘ _Raphael’s_ ‘ work has been.” She lifts her hands in air quotes at the name. “Many things regarding the former archangel have come to light in the past few hours.”

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale leans against the wall for support. “Are you implying that Gabriel is unaware of the things Raphael has been doing to me?”

She turns to him affronted. “Gabriel and I have always been close, and he is being more than honest with you about his wanting to be better. Gabriel loves you Aziraphale, and he wants you to love him back by choice not by force.”

“Then what do you believe is Raphael’s reasoning for making mush of my mind?”

“I have a few theories.” She tics then off on her fingers. “One, if you were to be with Gabriel and he found out it was against your will, he’d be devastated. Two, it’s a good way to lead you to believe Gabriel isn’t who he says he is. And three, they throw you into a confused and emotional breakdown in order to make you vulnerable and pliable, since playing the long game has gotten them no where with you.”

“If Gabriel is so good and honorable, and your dear friend, then why are you taking me to Crowley?”

“To show you what he and ‘ _Raphael_ ’” Air quotes again. “Have been playing at for 6000 years.”

“Raphael and Crowley would never work together. Crowley hates him.” Aziraphale pushes away from the wall, advancing on Michael. “Plus, Raphael showed me a rather damning video of Crowley this morning, in which he was kissing another angel. If Raphael’s attempting to sabotage Gabriel, then why show me something like that?”

“Don’t you remember?” Michael returns the advance, stepping further into Aziraphale’s space. “Before the Fall it was decided you were to be Gabriel’s, correct?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale backs away. “But I was already in love with another archangel.”

“Zaphkiel. I know. And Zaphkiel claimed to love you back, even then. Didn’t he?”

“He did love me!” Aziraphale clenches his fists at his sides. “There was no mere claiming about it! He loved me then and he loves me now!”

“He was betrothed as well. Did you know that?” She moves closer, forcing Aziraphale back into the wall. “To Raphael. Which also brings me to the news we’ve only just learned this morning.”

“You need to stop.” Aziraphale holds his hands out like a shield. “You’re lying to me just like the rest of them. I refuse to listen.”

“Raphael Fell as well.” She continues as if Aziraphale had not spoken at all. “They became Vice. Two archangels who Fell from Grace together to become Hell’s most adept tempters. Fell because of their mutual love of each other and hatred for everything good and righteous.”

“If Raphael is Vice, then why return Jesus?” Aziraphale lowers his hands, clasping them over his stomach.

“Vice and Crowley must have suspected we were on to them. It seems they had convinced Uriel and Sandalphon to defect as well. That’s what I was discussing with Gabriel when you were exiting his bedroom.” She moves away giving him some much needed space. “I’m guessing they returned God’s son thinking it would throw us off course. That’s why Gabriel sent us out of the room, to ensure your safety while he dealt with Vice. Hopefully he had been successful in reversing any mind modifications Vice has done on poor Jesus as well.”

“No, this is all too far-fetched to be believed.”

“Vice and Crowley’s goal has always been to turn you against us. As Zaphkiel or Crowley, he’s never actually wanted you. When you and Crowley were apart, when he sent you off to handle his temptations, he was in Vice’s bed. The two of them have been making a mockery of you for millennia.”

Aziraphale turns his back to her, gripping the rail that runs along the lift’s wall. He doesn’t want her to see the tears he is unable to hold back. “If Crowley and Vice are in love, why was Crowley with Orphiel?”

“They both like variety and corrupting angels, and from what I hear, Vice gets off on watching Crowley sully a member of the Host.” Michael takes Aziraphale’s arm and turns him to face her. “They’re demons Aziraphale. They don’t love, truly love like we do. Their version of love is more akin to lust.”

“No.” Aziraphale stumbles as the lift begins to move. “Crowley has already warned me that the angels are all trying to dupe me. That someone is impersonating him. He thought we could trust you, but he was obviously wrong.”

“I can prove it.” She reaches into her trouser’s pocket and removes a key card. “He’s not expecting you. Drop in on him unannounced.”

“And if I do catch ’ _Crowley_ ’” It’s Aziraphale’s turn to use air quotes. “In the middle of anything scandalous, I’ll know it’s not him, but rather his imposter.”

“Reach out to his essence.” Michael steps beside him as the lift’s doors open.

“His essence?”

Michael offers the card once more. “Even if someone could shift their form to look like him, they can’t change their infernal or celestial essence. The only being I’ve ever seen capable of shape shifting has been Vice, and even then they could only shift into their old angelic form.”

The concept is a relief, but also utterly terrifying. If the Lords of Hell or archangels had thought of such an idea at his and Crowley’s body swap, neither of them would exist right now. Then another plot hole makes itself clear to Aziraphale and he has to ask. “If Crowley and Vice’s goal was to defeat Heaven, why did Crowley ask me to help him stop Armageddon?”

Michael presses her lips together in a tight frown. “Vice has aspirations of taking Satan‘s throne. Their endgame is to destroy all of Heaven and for Vice to become the highest ruling force in the universe. Can’t have Satan, or his heir in power to do that. Why do you think Crowley pushed you so hard to kill the child? Thankfully Adam gave up his powers, saving himself from certain death.”

“But God.”

“God is dead, Aziraphale.” Michael cuts him off, suddenly looking herself on the edge of tears. “She wasn’t as all powerful as we’ve led everyone to believe. She was murdered not long after Jesus’ conception. We didn’t tell anyone because we were terrified of the fallout that sort information might cause.”

Aziraphale finds himself unable to move or respond. The idea of the Almighty Herself being gone, is a concept almost unfathomable for one to wrap their mind around.

Michael must take Aziraphale’s silence as encouragement to continue, so she does. “So, you can understand that this means Jesus was in danger as well. It’s good he was brought to us again when he was. And I hope you’re becoming aware of Crowley‘s true motive for tempting the godling while earthbound, and his intense need to find Jesus again now. They wished to do away with him and remove all traces of Her from the universe.”

“How? How can one kill the Almighty?” Aziraphale surprises himself at finally finding his words. The world around him seems wrong and hazy.

“With the right weapon.” Michael shoulders droop in defeat. “Everything can be destroyed. Immortality is really just never dying of old age, not indestructibility.”

“So, their biggest oppositions now are Satan and Gabriel? And the latter is why they’re after me?” This is ridiculous, which leaves Aziraphale confused, and unable to piece together everything properly. Lies are normally such simple things, this is so convoluted. Does that make it genuine? But so much of it still doesn’t connect. Too many plot holes.

Michael lays the key card in Aziraphale’s hand. “Go to Crowley, talk to him if you want. This decision is ultimately yours, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

“Crowley darling.” Aziraphale’s sweet voice drifts to him from the bed. The demon turns his head, and stumbles forward, falling to his knees beside the angel.

Aziraphale is naked, lain out over the duvet, his upper body propped only slightly on the bed’s pillows. He stares at Crowley, his blue eyes glistening, his full face prettily blushing, and his thick pink lips parted and trembling. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Crowley has forgotten how to form words, the vision before him stealing his breath. He wants to rub his hands over that broad chest and full stomach. To grip those strong thighs and grind himself against the angel’s thick, perfect cock.

“Come here, Crowley.” Aziraphale gestures for Crowley to leave the floor and climb onto the bed.

“Yeah, sorry.’ Crowley’s voice cracks. “You’re gorgeous. I-I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Aziraphale’s eyes search Crowley’s face, as the demon moves to straddle the angel’s knees. “You think this soft, stuffy, bookworm is gorgeous?”

“Oh, Satan yes.” Crowley is nearly overwhelmed at the gift before him. His mouth is dry, and he struggles to swallow. He didn’t realize this would make him into such a bundle of nerves. “So, you really want to do this? Do you want to make love to a wretched thing like me?”

“More than anything, darling.”

“I’ll need you to talk to me during this, angel. Tell me what you want, but most importantly let me know if you need to stop or if I go too fast.”

“You’re not going fast enough.” The angel’s eyes are dark and lusty. Crowley’s never seen Aziraphale look at anything the way he’s looking at him right now. “And I’d like it very much if you would ride me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that.” _Fuck, get it together, this is no time to freak out._ “I mean, I’ll do my best.”

“Your best?” Aziraphale arcs a brow.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I’ve saved myself for you.” Crowley tries not to hyperventilate, but he’s terrified. What if Aziraphale doesn’t like it? What if he finds Crowley‘s skills lacking? “Just don’t be disappointed if I’m not good. I mean, I’ll get better, I’m sure. With practice and all. That is if you want to keep practicing with me.”

“Crowley stop.” Aziraphale snaps, cutting short the demon’s ramblings. The angel snaps his fingers and Crowley finds himself naked. “Touch your skin to my skin dearest. I promise your worries will melt away.”

Crowley licks his lips and reaches out tentatively to press his hands along those thick thighs. They’re soft on the surface, but he can feel powerful muscle underneath. He leans down, planting gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s stomach, worshipping his Angel the way he deserves. Crowley’s reverent movements interrupted by a loud huff from the head of the bed. Once again self-conscious, Crowley moves his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s.

“What are you doing?” The angel is glaring at him with a mixture of confusion and dissatisfaction. Crowley suddenly feels like there’s a clamp on his heart.

“I. I want you to feel how much I love you.” Crowley fights the urge to cry. He’s doing this wrong already. He’s going to fuck it up before it even gets started. “I want to worship you.”

“You’re no proper demon, and something needs to be done about that. Come here.” Aziraphale pats the center of his chest and Crowley moves as directed. “Now, lean back, placing your hands on my hips and offer me your ass.”

Crowley again does as instructed. When he’s in the required position he watches intently as the angel miracles a bottle of lube and slicks his fingers.

“Let’s make quick work of this, shall we? I’m growing impatient.” His angel works Crowley’s tight entrance much too briefly before shoving his first finger inside. The burn causing Crowley to moan in a bewildering mix of pain and pleasure.

“You like that?“ Aziraphale purrs, barely giving Crowley time to catch his breath before he forces in a second digit and greedily opens the demon. “I didn’t wait for you, you know? My dick, my ass, they’ve have been pleasured by many a human. Does that make you envious darling?”

“Yesssss.” Crowley hisses, something dark and possessive awakening within him. “Fuck, yessss it makesssss me jealoussss.”

“Would you have been angry with my lovers if you had known?” A third finger, and Crowley’s vision blurs with the pleasure. “Would you have hurt them?”

“No.” Crowley gasps, his arm shaking from the mindbending ecstasy. “They’re humansssss, they have sssuch ssshort livesss. How could I punish them for giving in to sssomething as perfect as you?”

“Well, that just won’t do.” Aziraphale removes his fingers, and Crowley whimpers at the loss. Why would his good, kind angel want him to harm humans? The question vanishes as quickly as it comes, when Aziraphale slicks his dick and says. “Mount me demon.”

Crowley nearly swoons. Taking a series of deep breaths, he then scurries back to position himself over the Angels waiting cock. Aziraphale grasps Crowley by the hips and guides him down.

Aziraphale is neither gentle or slow in his assisted descent, but Crowley refrains from complaining. He needs this to be good for his angel.

As soon as the demon is able to catch his breath, he begins his movements. Aziraphale is beautiful, as he watches Crowley with hungry eyes and panting lips. Crowley nearly comes when the angel throws his head back and calls out his name.

“I love you.” Crowley can’t believe he’s finally here, his body joined with Aziraphale’s, bringing the angel pleasure.

“Show me demon.” Aziraphale’s grip on his thin hips hardens as the angel begins to brutally thrust up into him. “Come all over me, make a mess of me as I fill you. As I leave you knowing you’ve had my seed deep inside your body.”

“Fuck, yesssss, Aziraphale!” Crowley throws his head back holding the angel’s arms for support. He moans loud and wanton as Aziraphale pounds relentlessly against his prostrate. “Shit! I’m gonna come! I’m gonna come, Angel!”

“Then come.” Are the last words Crowley hears as the world erupts in stars. His own orgasm pulsing out of him and the throbbing cock filling the inside of him are the only sensations he’s aware of in that moment.

What he misses is the body beneath him shifting into a deathly pale, thin figure with long black hair. He doesn’t hear as immediately thereafter the door to his hotel room opens from the outside. Their visitor arriving at the moment of both Crowley and Vice’s climaxes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale misunderstands what’s happening. In his confused and upset state, he deserts Crowley when the demon needs him most. Jesus finds out the fate of John and handles the situation in a painful way. Hastur and Michael aren’t fairing too well either.

Aziraphale hears Crowley moaning loudly, as he slips himself quietly through the door. Before him is a visual he can only describe as a combination of beautiful and terrible. Crowley naked, eyes closed, and face turned upward in pure rapture. His body arcing backward in a ravishing curve as he spills his ecstasy over the other demon beneath him. The redhead’s muscles flex just beneath the skin in a tantalizing manner, as he grips the wrist of his lover for support. The sight of him in the throes of passion is enticing, marvelous, and absolutely sickening to the angel, since the being causing Crowley’s euphoria is not Aziraphale.

_It’s a trick. It has to be a trick. That’s not really him. This is another of their games._

The act of sensing someone’s essence takes only a few seconds in real time, so before either party can notice him lurking in the entryway, Aziraphale throws forth his senses to detect the impostor’s essence. Through the bone and blood, past the fleshy corporeal shell, Aziraphale hurtles himself towards a red and black swirl of infernal glow. To his growing horror, he finds a snake, slithering along an ever moving series of metallic wheels. As the wheels flash by, Aziraphale catches glimpses of the tarnished symbols for the former archangel Zaphkiel, and the symbols for the serpent Crawly. Interspaced between the symbols are multiple yellow, serpentine eyes.

“No.” He whispers, feeling no need to check the other demon’s essence. After his conversation with Michael, the principality is certain he knows the identity of Crowley’s lover.

“No!” Aziraphale screams at the two beings still clinging to one another. He wants to reach out, to hurt them both for making a fool of him. He thinks of ripping Vice apart, limb from limb, watching those cold black eyes flicker out. The same eyes that have now turned on Aziraphale with unbridled glee.

Crowley’s head snaps forward to look in the direction of the shout. All his previous bliss fading from that unfairly beautiful face, to be replaced by a mix of confusion and fear. He looks to Vice below him and his freckled skin blanches a sickly gray. “What the fuck?“

“They were right.” Aziraphale’s own skin grows hot as pressure begins to build behind his eyes. Somehow he is able to keep his tone calm and cold. “They’ve always been right. I should’ve stabbed you through on that wall in the garden. I allowed my love-sick foolishness to blind me from the fact that you obviously Fell for a reason. These past 6000 years have been a terrible mistake.”

“Angel.” Crowley stumbles as he dismounts the creature below him. He looks frightened and ill.

_Getting caught in one’s own depravity will cause that_. Aziraphale surmises.

Tears accumulate on the edge of Crowley eyes, and Aziraphale hates him all the more for the petty theatrics. The demon grabs a sheet, wrapping it around a skinny frame, before shuffling towards the angel. He reaches out pleadingly. “Aziraphale, wait. Listen. Something awful has just happened.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The blond jerks away and tosses the room card into Crowley‘s face. “Looked to me like you were having a raucously good time.”

“Angel, take me out of here, away from them.” Crowley squirms in Vice’s hold, as the Lord of Hell steps behind the lesser demon and pulls him to their chest. “Please, Aziraphale don’t go. Let me explain. I need you right now.”

“I’m going home Crowley.” Aziraphale yanks open the door, stepping into the hall. “Not London, not earth _. Home._ I should’ve gone back in 1800 when they first gave me the chance. Gabriel’s right. I can do so much better than you.” He inhales deeply, all his rage and pain spitting out on the exhale. “Goodbye, snake.”

The angel slams the door in the face of the love of his life. He knows this is something from which he’ll be unable to recover. He’s torn open and raw as he runs tearfully to the lift. This wound is deep, the sort of deep that either kills you, or when it heals, the scar is so thick that the part of you damaged will never again work as it once did.

“Good.” Aziraphale reassures himself as the lift doors close behind him and he presses the button for the seventh floor. “Maybe I can finally be a proper angel, capable of following directions, without all those pesky personal feelings.”

He’s disgusted with himself for spending so much of his time naïvely following the wretched demon. For allowing himself to be fooled by such ridiculous notions of true love and destiny.

“I’ve spent too many hours reading romantic nonsense.’ Yet another thing Gabriel was right about and Aziraphale was wrong.

In fact the only thing Aziraphale doesn’t regret concerning the past 6000 years, is that humans did not deserve to perish because of a war.

“Thank God.” No, Crowley‘s lover is responsible for destroying Her. That leaves only one being to thank. “Thank Gabriel for coming to his senses and realizing that humanity matters.”

Aziraphale soon finds himself outside the door of Suite 712. He doesn’t recall the ride in the lift, just the dark thoughts flickering across his mind. With a resigned sigh, the blond knocks at the door and luckily he’s not forced to wait long.

“Aziraphale?” Gabriel’s brow pinches in confusion. “Sunshine, what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale collapses onto the archangel‘s strong chest, and allows Gabriel to engulf him in a gentle hug. “Did you mean it, when you said Heaven will protect humanity?”

“I did.” Gabriel’s hands rub circles in the center of Aziraphale’s back.

“If I come home with you, to Heaven.” Aziraphale winds his own arms around Gabriel in return and lifts his face to look into violet eyes. “Will you make certain my replacement will love the humans as I did?”

“I will.” Gabriel loosens his arms as Aziraphale remembers himself and pulls away.

“Jolly good.’ Aziraphale clears his throat and wipes away his tears. “If you’ll be patient with me, while I teach my heart to let Crowley go, and if you’re being honest in your endeavors to become a kinder more gentle being.” The principality fights down the queasy feeling in his stomach. “I think I should be quite willing to give a friendship with you a chance.”

“Really?” Gabriel’s eyes sparkle in his excitement. “And my chances for more?”

“Absolutely on the friendship.” Aziraphale takes one of Gabriel‘s hands. “Please dear boy, don’t be too disappointed on the other, because I seriously doubt my heart will cooperate in that matter. But I assure you we will be great friends.”

“A chance to have any relationship with you and to get you back to Heaven are more than I deserve.” Gabriel releases the soft hand in his and points to the hotel room to his right. “Why don’t you go pack. I’ll have Michael handle Crowley and Vice.”

“Could you not hurt him?” Aziraphale curses his own heart. “Can you just send him back to London and the life he lived when I wasn’t around?”

“Yeah, I can do that for you.” Gabriel’s lips curve into a gentle smile. “Now go get your things together. It’s time to go home.”

* * *

“Get the fuck off me!” Crowley screams, trying in vain to wriggle out of Vice’s hold.

“Oh, Crowley.” Vice purrs, their cheek pressed against his. “Running after him won’t help. You know he deserves better.”

“He left me.” Crowley sobs, watching the door in desperation, a part of him still hoping Aziraphale will walk back in and to his rescue. “He wouldn’t let me explain.” Crowley closes his eyes and tries again to pull from Vice’s grip. “You, you raped me and he just fucking walked away!”

“He knows what you are.’ Vice slips the bedsheet from Crowley’s vulnerable body, letting it fall to the floor. “You know I’m pretty sure he is as inexperienced as you _were_.” They smile when their emphasis on the word causes Crowley to involuntarily flinch. “We’ve had a few one-on-one conversations while I was Raphael, and that was the vibe I got. Would you truly be so cruel as to soil his perfect, angelic body with your seed?”

“I love him.” Crowley whimpers.

“Your love would be nothing but a shit stain on his angelic essence.” Vice’s hands run over Crowley’s chest, and the lower demon finds his urge to fight beginning to wane. “He’s worth more than a million of you. You got better than you deserve with me, and I don’t even want you. You were a job. You’re not even worthy of another demon’s lust, and you, the pathetic piece of shit you are, have the audacity to try for an angel?”

“I didn’t want this. I don’t want you.” Crowley falls limp in Vice’s arms. It had been a fool’s errand to hope he might have had a friend as wonderful as Aziraphale, let alone be loved by the perfect angel. “I want to die.”

“Good news! I don’t want your filthy ass either and as for the death, that’s something we plan to grant you.” Vice finally releases him, shoving Crowley towards the restroom. “Go clean yourself. We’ll be meeting Beelzebub soon to take you to your place of punishment. We plan to keep you there until we can find a way to destroy you.”

“You already have.” Crowley murmurs as he stumbles through the restroom door.

* * *

Vice had gone a while ago, leaving Jesus alone with the dagger and his thoughts. He wants to cry, to scream, to rage, but he’s too stunned right now to move.

He’d been forced to watch what Vice called their best of reel. Every clip was of John on Patmos, being beaten, burned and tortured in some horrific way. There was even a point where Jesus had been forced to watch his beloved be boiled alive. John had thrashed and struggled in the liquid heat, calling out for Jesus as his skin blistered and peeled away.

The most agonizing part of the entire ordeal? Gabriel wouldn’t allow the suffering man to die. Standing outside of John and his torturers’ sight, the Archangel used just enough celestial power to keep John alive. The pompous, purple eyed asshole using John’s torment as another tool for Heaven’s glory. A miracle of God is how the Christians came to refer to his poor love’s ordeal.

Jesus thinks it would be better described as cruelty. Punishment for a man whose only crime was to love. John laid on the floor of his cell miserable, broken and begging for a death Heaven would not give him. He did heal over time, but it left him scarred emotionally and physically.

“You would’ve never known such pain if not for me.” The demigod’s voice echoes in the empty room. “You would’ve lived your days at sea, and your nights in a comfortable bed. Would’ve let your family find you a wife and raise a family. You would’ve been less than content but lived to an old age unharmed.”

The previously absent tears now make their arrival and spill onto the glinting blade. The blade that had ultimately caused Yochanan, John his most beloved’s, soul to vanish from existence.

Gabriel had sent John here, to Hell, after his mortal demise. Another archangel close to Gabriel, Michael, had contacts in Hell. It was through these contacts Gabriel sentenced John to Tartarus, and to ultimately destroy himself on the very blade Jesus now grasps.

“You can bring him back.” Balog appears in the now open cell door. “Did Vice tell you that?”

“They did.” Jesus is too numb to react to his new arrival. “But all the lot of you do is lie, so how do I know it will work?”

Vice had dropped into their earlier conversation, that even destruction isn’t permanent with the proper sacrifice. All Jesus needs to do is drive the dagger through his own heart, while professing his love aloud, and John would be restored into existence.

“Are you out anything if we are?” Balog settles herself onto the sofa beside him. “I mean, here’s your options.” She raises her index finger. “One, we’re telling the truth, and John lives. We take him topside and allow him a normal human life without you. At the time of his death this round, Gabriel has agreed to allow him eternity in Heaven.” She lifts her middle digit. “Or two, we’re lying, John’s in no worse state than he currently is and you’re out of your misery.” She shrugs. “Sounds like a win for you either way.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” That’s why Jesus chose to come here rather than Heaven after all, to die instead of betraying those he cares for. Not that his choice would help them either. But now he doesn’t have to die the coward, he can be the hero who saved the very soul of the man he loves.

“I love you Yochanan of Galilee, son of Zebedee, Prophet of Patmos.” The godling sobs, pressing the jagged metal over his heart. “I give my life, so that you may live. I sentence myself to destruction to save you from your own.”

With one final deep breath he falls forward onto the dagger, the pain blinding as the infernal energy courses into his half holy, half human blood. “I’m sorry Yochanan. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you then. I’m sorry I didn’t make good on my promise.”

“He’ll never know anyway.” Jesus hears Balog in the distance as his surroundings fade. “You were right about Vice and their lies. He’s not coming back. It was option two.”

* * *

“Satan! Wearing that form was fucking miserable.” Beelzebub rubs their hands over their face, which is once again their own. “Vice must be finished on our end, else we wouldn’t look like us again.”

Michael sits on the sofa next to Hastur and watches as one of their captors drifts about the room. Beelzebub paces in front of them, occasionally throwing barbed glances in her and Hastur’s direction. Dagon sits in a large plush chair, her pale eyes sliding over Michael as she runs her tongue across deadly sharp teeth.

“Please tell me she’s not going to eat us.” Michael leans her face close to Hastur’s, keeping her voice low to whisper in his ear.

“She’s been known to eat humans, and a few of earth’s smaller animals.” Hastur lays his shackled hands on top of Michael’s. His eyes are deep inky black again, but not like Vice’s. His hold a hint of light, of something beautiful growing within his being, and Michael is pretty damn sure it’s the same thing growing within herself. “I’ve never known her to eat our kind.”

“That!” Beelzebub stops and jabs an index finger in Michael’s direction. “Is not one of our kind.”

“Well, I’m certainly not _your_ kind.” Michael raises her chin defiantly, ignoring the hiss of air that escapes the demon beside her. “But I am _his_ kind.”

“S’that so?” Dagon snaps her teeth together while rising from the chair. She leans over Michael placing her hands on the back of the sofa over each of the archangel’s shoulders. “How ‘bout I take a decent taste of both of you and see how you compare?”

“You touch her, and I’ll make sure it’s the last fucking thing you ever do.” Hastur’s voice a deep rumble. “I outrank you in power and status.”

“You _did_ outrank me in status. That’s been revoked.” Dagon’s movements are almost cat like as she slinks slowly from Michael to hover in the same manner above Hastur. Her eyes scan his face and a sadistic smile pulls at her lips as she tics her head towards Beelzebub. “As for power, I’ve got them for backup.” She slides her hands from the couch, leaving one to rest on Hastur’s shoulder, the other to slip across his chest. “Maybe I’ll do away with you now. Let the divine princess watch.”

In a motion so fast it causes both Hastur and Dagon to startle, Michael moves her cuffed hands and clamps them bruisingly around Dagon’s wrist. “If you destroy him, you’ll have nothing keeping me in check. And if you’ll recall I’m the one who mortally wounded Lucifer Himself. The both of you will be like tearing through paper.”

In an equally startling rush Beelzebub is on Michael jerking her from the sofa and away from Dagon and Hastur. “You’re not able to do shit with these cuffs on.” They turn Michael and shove her into the plush chair. “And very soon, his fate will cease to be anything you’ll have access to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael tries to stand, but falls back into her seat when Dagon unsheathes her previously brandished celestial knife. Plopping herself beside Hastur, she trails the blade down the center of his chest.

“We’ve finished here.” Beelzebub begins they’re pacing anew, but this time looking less angry and more anticipatory. “The horsepeople will be left to finish off the earth and the lives upon it. All demons and angels will return to Heaven and Hell. Some to their jobs and others to their eternal places of punishment.” They pout their lower lip mockingly. “Not that Heaven really does long term punishment.”

Michael meets Hastur’s gaze, the both of them realizing this is most likely their end. There aren’t many ways in which Heaven elicits large punishment, but when it is done it either involves Falling or destruction.

“So, she’s to Fall?” Hastur beseeches, the gravel in his voice thicker than usual.

“Nope.” Dagon twists the blade, causing the dark fabric of Hastur’s shirt to tear. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Michael understands what awaits her. She hadn’t been there that day, when Eric brought the flame top side, but she knew. She also knows it’s not inconceivable that a similar exchange will happen again, only this time hellfire and holy water won’t be used against the traitors who have proven themselves resistant. No, it will be against the traitor who is one of many to never work through that puzzle.

“No.” The word exits the back of Hastur’s throat in a gush of air.

“Don’t worry lover boy.” Dagon bounces in her seat. “We won’t use something so quick as holy water for you. You need to suffer.”

“But as for your _Queen._ ” Beelzebub stops behind Michael dropping their chin onto her shoulder. “Heaven doesn’t dirty their hands with good old-fashioned torture. I advise you tell her goodbye.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel drops his lies. Crowley tries to once again come to Aziraphale's rescue, things just don't turn out the way he would like.

Gabriel hovers closely behind Aziraphale, when the principality freezes in place, key card hovering just above where he needs to swipe it to enter the suite.

“I’m sorry.” The blond turns to face Gabriel. “I actually think I need more time.”

“More time for what?” The archangel’s eyes roam the expanse of plush body. Aziraphale’s back presses against the door as Gabriel steps further into his space. _I wouldn’t mind screwing you a few times with all that soft padding. You might be easier to manipulate if you remain fat, it will give me a reason to make you hate yourself._ “I already have a jet waiting, and your indecisiveness is very off putting.”

“Indecisiveness?” Pain etches itself into the lines of Aziraphale’s round face, and Gabriel knows he’s found a new weapon.

“Let’s look at your actions for today, shall we?” Gabriel snatches the key card from Aziraphale’s fingers, swiping the door open. “You've told me you want me, while laying across my bed. Said to give you time, and you'd be mine, only to once again run off to that demon.” Gabriel herds his wide-eyed prey across the threshold and locks the door behind them. “Then, when you see your precious hell beast getting plowed by someone else, you throw yourself into my arms.” He takes Aziraphale’s bicep into his harsh grip, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Gabriel’s dick twitches to life, when Aziraphale yelps in pain. “Only to change your fucking mind on me again!”

“I-I was upset!” Aziraphale stammers, his eyes darting about the room searching for escape. “I’d just had my heart broken by the only being I’ve ever loved since the literal beginning of time. You were the first living thing I saw, and in that state I would’ve fallen into any embrace for comfort!”

“Why run to my room?” Gabriel pushes Aziraphale toward the bedroom.

“Not for this!” Aziraphale’s tone is pitchy and panicked. He struggles uselessly against the much stronger angel. “I needed a supervisor’s approval to return to Heaven and you’re the only of my superiors whose room number I know.”

“I think you want this Aziraphale.” Gabriel moves the both of them fully into the bedroom, closing and locking this door as well. “Have you already forgotten kissing me on my bed?” He's backed Aziraphale to the wall, the bed to the blond’s right, the closet to his left. Gabriel splays hands out across the smooth plaster above each of Aziraphale's shoulders and blocks the shorter angel from an easy escape. “I think you're nothing more than a dirty tease, sunshine. I think you want me to take it.”

“No.” Aziraphale shakes his head rapidly while making an obvious effort to swallow. “Vice was in my head, manipulating my thoughts. They were mixing up all of my memories of Crowley and replacing them with you.”

“Now why would they do that?” Gabriel is enjoying this. Playing nice is too degrading for him but this, well this makes him feel powerful. “Do you think it's because they're working for me and you're an even bigger fool than you previously thought?”

Aziraphale's brow crinkles, his eyes draw down. “But Michael said…”

“That wasn't Michael.” Gabriel cuts him off. He is now nose-to-nose with the former cherub. “That was me.”

“What?” Aziraphale pales, his legs noticeably wobble beneath him.

“Vice can make themselves and others look like anyone.” Gabriel bites his lip. “Even you.”

Aziraphale startles, he searches the archangel’s face. “Crowley thought Vice was me.”

“He did!” Gabriel laughs. _Oh look! The fat fuck is starting to cry!_ Tears flow down Aziraphale’s full cheek, he looks a mixture of bewildered and ill. Gabriel delights in the reaction, but this is only skimming the surface of what the traitor deserves. “Vice had just finished raping him. Taking his virginity at that. Would you believe that pitiful piece of shit was actually saving himself for you?”

“What have I done?” Aziraphale wraps his arms around his pudgy middle, and Gabriel exalts in every moment of his pain.

“Exactly! What did you do? You threw his key card in his face and told him just how disgusting you think he is!”

“No, oh my poor, sweet boy.” Aziraphale locks his gaze to Gabriel’s. “But how do you know all this?”

“Vice recorded it.” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. “I have it saved on my phone. Watched it live and can again anytime I want. Every delicious moment of Vice fucking him mercilessly, topped off with you shattering his heart and mind.”

“You evil bastard!” Aziraphale attempts to duck under Gabriel’s arm but the archangel catches him by the throat and in one smooth motion tosses the principality onto the bed. Aziraphale thrashes his arms and legs as Gabriel climbs over top of him. “Let me go, you horrible brute! I need to go to him!”

“You’re not going anywhere except where I tell you.” Gabriel puts the full weight of his body on Aziraphale’s own. Taking he weaker angel by the wrists, he holds Aziraphale’s hands above his head to stop his punching and clawing. “There isn’t anything you can do for him any longer. Your precious demon is in the hands of Hell now. One call from me and Vice destroys him.”

“That would be impossible, he’s indestructible.” Aziraphale squirms beneath him, continuing his attempts to break free. “He’s immune to holy items.”

“Is he?” Gabriel lulls his head back and moans, pushing his pelvis further into Aziraphale’s movements. “Fuck, yes keep fighting. The friction feels so good.”

“Of course, he is.” Aziraphale goes completely still. The sheer terror behind his unblinking, blue stare tells Gabriel his hunch is more than a hunch.

“Because I now know how easy it is to shift corporations, with the right former archangel’s assistance. Raphael and Zaphkiel were created near the same time and share many of the same powers.” Gabriel brushes his lips along Aziraphale’s jaw. “Certainly, Crowley’s demonic powers won’t be exactly the same as Vice’s, or else you would’ve picked up on our scam sooner, but I’m guessing that it wasn’t actually you with me in Heaven. I’d wager you were splashing about in a tub at that point in time.”

“Don’t.” Aziraphale is now breathing much too quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ok then.” Gabriel shifts so that both of Aziraphale’s wrists are held down firmly in one hand. He reaches to the bedside table for his phone. “I’ll just give Vice a call and have them test the theory.”

“No!” Aziraphale screams, and Gabriel nearly gets off right then on how completely broken his new toy looks.

“Unless you want me to make that call, you will follow my every command and tend to my every desire. Are we clear, pet?”

“Please, don’t hurt him.” Aziraphale’s tears begin anew. “We’re clear. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Such a good little angel.” Gabriel breathes against Aziraphale’s lips, before pressing his onto them for a bruising kiss.

* * *

Crowley stands beneath the scalding spray of water, having scrubbed his skin nearly raw, and unable to make himself clean.

_You haven’t been clean in close to 7000 years, you worthless git._ His inner voice mocks him. Crowley had been relieved when he’d though that part of him had finally gone silent. He hadn’t had to deal with it’s hateful commentary since Aziraphale had drunkenly confessed his love. Was that really only two nights before? A day and a half? Crowley can’t recall through everything that’s happened, but it feels like it’s been centuries.

“Don’t start.” He tells the monster inside of him. “I know I’m disgusting, that this is my fault. I should’ve seen that the being in the other room wasn’t Aziraphale. I should’ve known my Angel well enough to see through the terrible things that were being said. I just wanted him so desperately and now I’ve lost him forever.”

“Hurry he fuck up! We haven’t got all day!” Vice shouts through the restroom door.

Crowley reluctantly shuts off the water and takes up the towel lying on the sink beside his crumpled clothes. He considers telling them he isn’t actually immune to holy water. Let them do away with him and this debilitating pain of having lost everything worth living for. There’s no reason for him without his Angel. Aziraphale has always been the sole purpose of his useless existence, and the very reason he can’t tell Hell about the means to his destruction.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley exhales. The gravity of everything that has just happened crashes down upon him, and he realizes Aziraphale is very likely in danger too. If his Angel truly believes Crowley has been betraying him all these years, it only makes sense that, when he ran from this hotel room, he would be making a beeline to his former supervisor. Where else would the angel go? He’d said he was going back to Heaven when he’d thrown Crowley’s room key in his face. Which means he has run to Gabriel in hopes of being accepted back into the flock.

Gabriel who has been pretending to be nice, play acting at reform, but Crowley knows a liar and a cheat when he sees one. It isn’t just the knowledge that Gabriel had tried to murder Aziraphale a year prior. The archangel oozes a power hungry energy, an almost palpable need to be God.

Aziraphale, however, believes in goodness, redemption and forgiveness. It’s the reason he hadn’t driven Crowley through with his sword on Eden’s wall, and the reason they’ve spent millennia falling in love. It will now be the reason Aziraphale is going to put himself in harms way, thinking he has no where else to go and that his former enemy is honest in wanting to be his friend.

Crowley isn’t about to let that happen. He looks to the window which sets at head level inside the shower. It’s narrow, but so is Crowley.

“Are you coming or not?” The doorknob shakes, and Crowley thanks Someone he had locked it behind him in his stupor.

“Give me just a mo.” Crowley calls back, luckily his voice is still dry and cracking from all his crying. It leaves him sounding as broken as he feels, and he needs Vice to hear that brokenness right now. “I’m trying.”

“Well try harder, you worthless slut!” The knob stops shaking. “You’ve got less than five minutes and we’re going. Don’t make me break in there. You _will not_ enjoy the outcome.”

“Yeah, S-sorry.” Crowley finishes the last button of his shirt, not taking the time to tuck it into his jeans. He can look put together later.

The demon steps once more into the shower and pushes upward on the pane. To his ecstatic relief, it moves with very little effort. He takes hold of the sides of the opening and pulls himself so that his chest is resting against the bottom frame. He’s three stories up, high enough that a fall could definitely break a bone or two, but low enough he’s not sure he could pull his wings out in time. It will be impossible to release his wings before exiting the window though, considering the added girth would limit his ability to slip through.

His snake form is out of the question. Yes, he could comfortably fall from this height with no injuries, but it’s too difficult to morph back into his human visage. Crowley hasn’t gone full snake since Eden, he’s afraid if he does, he won’t be able to turn back.

Crowley’s time is almost up, and he thinks he has an idea that might work. He pulls his torso out the window, turns so that his bottom sets on the sill, his back faces out and releases his wings.

“Fuck yes!” He exclaims, before realizing that might not have been the best idea. He can hear Vice pounding against the door this time, as he flaps his midnight wings, allowing them to pull him skyward.

Crowley has a lot to deal with, he knows he does. Suffering has been a constant in the entirety of his time on earth, and Crowley will deal with this new trauma later. For now he’ll do what he has always done, find his Angel, protect his Angel and keep his Angel safe. Afterwards, when he’s alone, when he can’t trouble Aziraphale with his darkness, Crowley will find some way to bury this new torment as well.

* * *

Aziraphale tries to block it all out, closes his eyes to pretend it isn’t happening. He’ll soon know how Crowley felt just moments before Aziraphale’s rejection. How could he have been so foolish? To have doubted his sweet demon so easily, instead of stopping to actually listen to what Crowley had to say. But this is how he’s always been, hasn’t he? The pawn that eventually allows Heaven into his mind, and bends to their will. In doing so, he breaks the heart of the one being he should have been listening to all along.

“Don’t fight this sunshine. If you relax you might actually like it.” Gabriel starts undoing the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt, sliding his hands along the bare skin. “Open your eyes. I want you to see me and not him while this happens.”

Aziraphale wants to protest, to scream no. The last thing he wants is to watch as someone he absolutely despises takes their pleasure from him. But he can’t do anything of the sort, not if he wants Crowley to survive. So he does as he’s told.

If this was before, his hero would be busting through that door at any moment. Crowley has always been there to pull him from any scrape, any poor decision that placed the principality in harms way.

Aziraphale knows his hero won’t be coming today. Not after the horrendous way he’d treated his love, in the one moment the demon himself needed saved. Aziraphale had deserted him, left him alone with his rapist. Left him to suffer at the hands of Hell, believing that the Angel he loved found him grotesque and not even worth hearing out.

“Tell me you want this.” Gabriel presses his still clothed erection against Aziraphale’s. The principality loathes the way his body betrays him, responding to the physical stimuli without his permission.

“He doesn’t.” Comes the raspy growl from the open bay window.

Aziraphale looks to his right, and before him is the most splendid of Her creations. Crowley, black wings unfurled, standing just beyond the sheer, white curtains as they shift and sway with the incoming breeze.

“Crowley!” _Oh, how magnificent he is! Come to save me again, even after the deplorable way that I’ve treated him._

At that exact moment, a fist pounds against the locked door of Aziraphale’s bedroom.

“Gabriel, let me in!” Vice shouts. “Crowley’s escaped! Slipped out the bathroom window!”

“I know. He’s in here!” Gabriel releases Aziraphale’s hands and pushes himself from the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

“I’m coming in.” The door handle glows a bright red and melts away. Seconds later Vice joins them.

“Why are you here, serpent?” Gabriel spits. “He said he didn’t want you.”

“I didn’t mean it!” Aziraphale shuffles to the side of the bed and plants his feet on the floor. “Please, my dear, I’m so sorry.”

“I know that Angel.” Crowley never takes his eyes from the two threats. His head swivels between them, shoulders hunched forward, claws suspended preparing for attack. “But I do think we need to talk, once we get out of this.”

“Yes, I believe we do.”

Aziraphale tries to stand but is caught by Gabriel and shoved back onto the bed. “No interference, bitch.”

Crowley snarls, flames erupting in the palms of his hands. “That’s the last time you’ll ever touch him.”

“You think so?” Vice conjures Hellfire of his own and moves to stand behind Aziraphale. “Because there isn’t a trick up your sleeve that I can’t replicate. You and I are very much the same Crowley, don’t think for a moment you stand a chance against me.”

“Crowley, just leave.” Aziraphale begs. “Fly back out that window and escape. I’ve done nothing but make you miserable, my love, and I’m so sorry.”

“Not without you.” Crowley scans the room, but it’s obvious he can find no way for the two of them to get out of this.

“Put out your flames snake, or I let Vice make a little bonfire.” Gabriel’s face breaks into a broad toothy smile. His makes a show of looking over the length of Aziraphale’s body. ”Well not too little by the looks of the kindling.”

“He’s immune.” Crowley says hesitantly, his eyes revealing his fear. “You’ve lost.”

“He’s not, and you know it.” Gabriel nods his head to Vice. “Take him.”

Vice yanks Aziraphale backwards across the bed and forces him to stand. The principality nearly topples at the awkward way his torso is brought upright before his legs. The flames now held dangerously close to his face.

Crowley drops his arms to his side, his own fire extinguishing.

“Now don’t fight me little demon.” Gabriel beckons Crowley closer. “I was going to send you back to Hell, but I think there are ways I could make good use of you.”

“You promised Beelzebub he was theirs.” Vice watches his angelic counterpart with a curious expression.

“I did, but you know as well as I do, you’re going to be their boss when we’re done here.” Gabriel snaps his fingers, and a set of blessed silver shackles appear in his hands. He clamps them around Crowley’s wrist, the sight of Aziraphale in danger taking all fight out of the demon. “And I’ll let you share.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's a badass

_They’ll destroy her_. Hastur had allowed himself to hope. Even through the fear and the uncertainty of what they’ve been doing, he had permitted himself just an inkling of the blessed emotion. But now he finds himself, once again, on the precipice of love only to have it snatched away.

“Hold up.” Hastur raises his cuffed hands palms out. “You really think you can trust Gabriel? And Vice is so far up that wanker's ass, he might as well be an archangel again.” He already hates himself for this plan, but he can’t let Michael die. Time to let loose the lying, conniving demon he is. “I’ve been suspicious of them this entire time, that’s why I’ve been seducing queenie there? They’re trying to cause dissention among us by turning one of our high-ranking officials to their side, so I planned to take one of their's in turn.”

Hastur can feel Michael’s gaze burning into the side of his head. He hopes she understands that he’s lying, that his intent was never to hurt her or make her Fall. But given the options before him, he’d much rather she Fall than be destroyed.

Hastur keeps his eyes on Beelzebub, not yet ready to see the look of hurt and betrayal that’s sure to be on Michael’s face. Beelzebub tilts their head, looking him over curiously. “Prove it.”

_Shit, I need more time. Stall, think, think_. “Well uhm….”

He’s cut off by a knock at the door. Dagon stands and follows Beelezebub to greet the new arrival. The Prince quips over their shoulder. “We'll decide your fate based on what evidence you give soon enough. This, however, will be her royal pain in the ass’s ride.”

Michael startles in Hastur’s peripheral, the sudden motion causing Hastur to turn to her in concern. To his surprise she doesn’t appear angry or hurt in the least. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and more than anything her blue eyes convey a sad adoration. She mouths silently _“Thank you.”_

Hastur shakes his head quickly, fighting with all his power to hold back the tears that burn his eyes. He looks to his left to make sure Beelzebub and Dagon aren’t looking, then mouths to Michael in return. _”I’m sorry.”_

Michael drops her head, releasing a shaky breath. Hastur watches her movements, not wanted to miss a second of what will most likely be the last time he will see her. She rolls her shoulders and flexes her fingers, preparing herself for whatever horrible punishment is about to come.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Beelzebub yelps, pulling Hastur and Michael’s attention in their direction. “Gabriel told us he dealt with you!”

“He did, let us know his game plan in full. Do you know how relieved I was to find it had the endgame of destroying all the Fallen?” Uriel pushes through the entryway, Sandalphon on her heels. In their hands are celestial broad swords, lit with holy flame. Neither Prince of Hell nor Master of Torments has time to react before they are run through, both demons cry out as their bodies dissolve into ash, any metal on their persons falling to the floor.

Uriel’s eyes blaze as she turns her gaze on Hastur. “He even promised I could take down Lucifer this time.”

“Get up!” Michael commands Hastur and rises to her feet. She places her body between him and the other two archangels. “Can you draw your wings?”

Hastur quickly stands and tries to pull his wings into this realm to no avail. He can’t even locate them on the spiritual realm. “No! Shit! These blessed cuffs won’t let me!”

“Blessed cuffs.” Michael says as she shifts to the side and catches Hastur’s eye for just a moment before dropping her gaze to the cuffs on his wrists and then to the cuffs on her own. “Cursed cuffs.”

Michael looks back to his eyes and smirks. “Holy swords! Get as far away from us as you can.”

“Wha-?” Is all Hastur gets out as Michael whips her body to the approaching attackers and releases the hottest fucking war cry he’s ever heard.

She lunges first for Uriel who raises her sword above her right shoulder and brings it down in a swooping motion to the left. Hastur screams when it dawns on him that Uriel is looking to cut Michael straight through the torso. “Stop!”

At the last possible second, Michael drops to one knee and lifts her hands above her head, resulting in the blade catching the chains of her cuffs rather than her middle. She yells in return “I told you to get back!”

With the foot planted on the floor, Michael pivots her body, twisting the chain around the flaming blade causing the infernal steel, cuffs and all, to shatter. The unexpected downward momentum also results in Uriel to losing her grip, toppling forward, her and the sword both falling to the carpeted floor.

Sandalphon rushes Hastur, who decides this might be an excellent time to do as he’s been told. The demon spins and runs until he hits the railing of the balcony. With no where else to go, he closes his eyes and waits for destruction.

Instead of searing pain and darkness, Hastur hears a thump, grunt and another thump. He opens his eyes slowly to see one stunning archangel with a flaming sword in hand smiling at him triumphantly and two other archangels sprawled unconscious on the ground. One at his feet and the other on the floor of the sitting room.

“You didn’t?” Hastur grasps Michael’s sword free arm. “Please tell me you didn’t. You’ll Fall for that.”

“You had no problems with me Falling a few minutes ago.” She bites her lower lip, looking amused.

“That’s when the alternative was death.” He realizes how selfish he had been. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. You may prefer death over becoming…” Hastur gestures to himself. “But it was an involuntary reaction, instinct. I-I can’t deal with losing someone I love again.”

His confession was no accident, Hastur wants her to know. What he doesn’t expect is for her to walk away from him and back to Uriel’s body. He’d been so certain she felt the same, but instead of openly reciprocating, she is busily removing Uriel’s scabbard and winding it around her own waist. Once she has it securely cinched in place, she sheathes her newly acquired weapon, and it's holy fire extinguishes.

“Listen, I thought.” Hastur starts. “Well you know what I thought, and just cause I feel more than you, that doesn’t mean we can’t stay friends or friends with benefits. Or whatever you want, I just, mmmph.”

In a fluid series of instantaneous motions, Michael wraps one arm around his lower back, the opposite hand cups the nape of his, he feels his body tilt back in her embrace and her lips are on his. The kiss is hard, sloppy, open-mouthed, wet and over much too quickly.

“In response to all of what you’d just spouted, they’re not dead, I knocked them out, so we shouldn’t stick around much longer. But even if I’d had to kill them, I’m not afraid to Fall. The two most amazing beings I’ve ever had the privilege to love are Fallen.” Michael smiles and pulls a cuff key from her pocket. “And last, but not least, I love you too.”

“Time to save the idiots?” Hastur laughs almost giddily as she stands him upright. Once the shackles are removed, he absentmindedly rubs his wrists where they have marred the skin.

“Yeah, but before that.” Michael looks down to the sword at Sandalphon’s side. “As a high ranking demon, are you able to curse holy weapons?”

“No, but I can wield them with protective layers between the weapon and my skin.” Hastur looks to the sitting room and where Dagon had dropped their celestial blade. “A flaming sword would be too much to handle, but I’m very skilled in close quarter combat.”

“Alright then.” Michael gives him a quick peck on the lips. “Go grab your weapon soldier. Let’s save us a couple idiots.”

* * *

Crowley hisses as the blessed shackles burn his wrists. He’s stuck. No matter what idea he could have thought up, they all ended with Aziraphale possibly getting hurt. He isn't even able to freeze time, because it wouldn’t stop Vice in the least. It’s the same when Vice freezes time, it does nothing to Crowley. Their abilities over-lap too much to have an effect on one another.

Crowley curses his luck. He could really use Vice’s mind meddling ability right now. Of course, God would allow him to share the ability to freeze time and exchange forms with another, but he can’t manipulate minds or morph into anyone at will. It seems that She saves the best gifts for the ones who plan to abuse them.

“You know, it’s not very angelic to rape someone.” Crowley sneers at Gabriel. “Can’t see how you haven't Fallen for that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know snake.” Gabriel takes a firm grip on Crowley’s arm and addresses Vice. “Don’t think we need to play this game anymore. Transport us directly there.”

Vice laughs, both of their hands very clearly occupied with threatening Aziraphale. “I think you need to open the portal. If you haven’t notice, my hands are full.”

“Right. A lot fuller than mine.” Gabriel winks at Aziraphale, pulls Crowley flush against himself and raises his free hand, moving it in a circular motion. The gesture creates a swirl of violet static, resembling lightning bolts, the air around them begins to shift and change. What once was the bedroom doorway is now a bright purple outlined portal into a white corridor. The archangel turns to Vice. “No worries, I’ve made sure this area will remain clear until you could take on you other visage.”

“Well, I could technically do it now, but I think we’d both be hard pressed to explain how and why the archangel Raphael has summoned hellfire.” Vice smirks and pushes Aziraphale forward. As the two of them pass Crowley and the archangel, the demon lord’s image shifts, black eyes becoming a vibrant green, a lean build develops light muscle tone and sickly, gray skin warms into a healthy pink hue. “Have the rest of your people returned?”

“Everyone but Uriel and Sandalphon.” Gabriel follows Vice and his charge into Heaven’s corridor, the portal closing once all four beings are clear. “They’re busy destroying Beelzebub and Dagon and retrieving the other two traitors. I told them to deliver Hastur and Michael upstairs, then charged them with journeying to Hell and doing away with Satan himself. It’ll keep your hands clean in this whole mess should they fail.”

“Fail?” Vice asks looking over their shoulder.

“Not that I think they will. Sandalphon may not be much, but Uriel is my greatest asset, only ever second to Michael.” Gabriel checks Vice over. “I do think you should find a Heavenly form besides this one though. Uriel thinks I've already done away with you.”

“Did you make them aware that the godling isn’t actually with us?” Vice doesn’t wait for an answer, their skin, hair and eyes darkening. Their shoulders growing broader and body more powerful.

“Good choice.” Gabriel hurries Crowley along so that they walk side by side with Vice and Aziraphale. “No, the only beings who know Jesus was never actually with of us are the four of us present now.”

“Was Jesus ever actually in danger?” Crowley catches Aziraphale's eyes through Vice's flame and hopes his Angel knows how much he's loved.

“He was, yes.” Gabriel squeezes Crowley’s wrist. “But not anymore.”

“If he knows what you’re doing here, letting him go wasn’t your smartest move.” Crowley cringes at the archangel’s touch. “He’ll come back to stop you and save us. All it takes is one conversation with his Mother.”

“About that!” Gabriel lets go of the demon’s wrist and brings his forearm around the red-head’s chest. The creepy fucker now so close he’s speaking directly into Crowley’s ear. “Wasn’t lying when I said I destroyed God. Happened right around the time of Jesus’ birth. Not that She did much before that.” Crowley tries to pull away, resulting in Gabriel holding him all the more firmly. He and Vice turn their captives down a hall to the right, at the end of which appears to be a dead end. “Since Her brat’s usefulness has expired, we made sure he was annihilated too.”

“Why would you do that? Why kill Jesus and bring me here alive?” Crowley is having trouble processing everything being dropped on him. The closest being he's ever had to a brother is dead, God is dead and very likely not responsible for all the things Crowley has spent an eternity blaming her for. He’s about to have his best friend and love of his life torn away again, and…..oh Satan, he’s not ready to deal with what Vice has done to him. Not yet, not while he needs to find a way to get his Angel to safety.

The center of the blank wall slides open, revealing another stark white room and Gabriel tosses Crowley inside.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale reaches to him but drops his arms when Vice moves the flame closer to his face.

“Don’t touch him!” Crowley snarls. Gabriel gestures for Vice to give him the principality and the angel is switched between captors.

“They won’t, I’ll make sure no one but me ever touches him again.” Gabriel holds Aziraphale against his front just as he had Crowley moments before. Only this time, he lets his hands roam in ways they hadn’t invaded Crowley. One palm wraps around the blond’s throat, the other rubs across Aziraphale’s chest and down his soft stomach. His Angel’s still open shirt making the invasive touch all the worse. “To answer your first question, I don’t need anyone contesting my power to rule.” Gabriel’s hand stops at the top of Aziraphale’s waistband. “As for why I’m letting you live, it seems my sunshine is more willing to submit to my advances if the answer to those advances determines your life or death.”

“You evil son-of-a-bitch!” Crowley leaps to his feet and runs full speed to Aziraphale’s aid.

“Tell Aziraphale bye demon.”

Before Crowley can make it to his intended target, the wall closes taking Aziraphale from him again. Crowley slams headlong into the solid, empty wall.

* * *

“They’ve just gone.” Michael lands on Gabriel’s balcony as the portal is closing. They had wasted too much time in trying to sort out which room their targets might be. They had gone to Gabriel’s suite first assuming he would be there with a brainwashed principality. Nothing. Then it was Vice’s suite thinking they might be holding Crowley. Nope. Luckily, they had chosen Aziraphale’s suite before Crowley’s little economy room, or else the duo would’ve completely missed the exit of those they are pursuing.

“Did you see them?” Hastur touches down beside her. “Which direction?”

“A dimensional portal.” She takes his hands. _He is not going to like this_. “To Heaven. I’m going to have to go on from here alone.”

“Like fuck you are!” Hastur’s eyebrows shoot up his head, the frog just above them pokes it’s head from under his wig and chirps in what is very likely agreement. “We’re a team now, Your Grace.” He gives her a cheeky grin. “Where you go I go. No alternatives.”

“You can’t morph, dumbass.” She shakes her head at him and the frog. “You’d be walking directly inside looking like you. The other angels will kill you on the spot, no questions asked. If that were to happen, I would still be handling this alone, but add onto that heartbroken as well.”

“And if you leave me here, what happens?” Hastur lifts his hands to the side of her face. “Sandalphon and Uriel find me. Without my badass protector, I’m toast.”

“You could handle yourself against an archangel with your powers restored.” Michael tries to convince herself, as well as him.

“Against one yes.” His large black eyes are so hopelessly lovely as he stares at her with pleading adoration. “But you’re leaving me to face two.”

“I’m taking you to face 10 million if you come with me.” _I’m trying to keep you safe_. “Maybe I can hide you away somewhere they’d never check. Put up wards, then come back for Aziraphale and Crowley. No one will even be able to find you, let alone hurt you.”

“I don’t actually care about my safety, it was just a ploy to convince you to give me my way.” Hastur’s hands fall to her shoulders. He shakes her gently and Michael gasps in shock to actually see tears on his cheeks. “What if you don’t come back? Because you know there is a high chance that if you go at this alone you won’t. I don’t want to be alone anymore Michael. I would rather die by your side, than go back to living without someone I love.”

Michael’s heart clenches in her chest, her own tears pushing forth and she pulls him into another desperate kiss. Hastur wraps his arms around her waist and holds her close. She wishes she could stay here, just like this for days, and perhaps the time will come when they can. Maybe someday she and Hastur can do just as Aziraphale and Crowley have done. Break ties with Heaven and Hell and be together openly and without fear. But if they are ever to have that, they need to first make a lot of wrongs into rights.

Reluctantly, Michael breaks their contact and rests her brow against Hastur’s. “How do you propose we get you through those halls safely?”

Hastur digs into the pocket of his dirty, tan overcoat and pulls out the blessed cuffs with which he’d only recently been shackled. “As your prisoner.”

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” She takes the cuffs and Hastur offers his wrists. “I could walk directly in to where Aziraphale and Crowley are being kept with no questions asked” Her happy mood vanishing at the thought of what this will do to him. “But these are going to burn you worse than they already have. Are you sure?”

“I’m a Duke of Hell, my queen. A little pain doesn’t bother me.” Hastur gives her a shy grin. “Besides we make it through this, you could always kiss it and make it better.”

“We make it through this.” Michael clamps the cuffs on him then waves her hand in a circular motion opening a portal of her own. This one outlined in crackling lightning bolts of blue. “I am more than willing to kiss you anywhere and everywhere you desire.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur and Michael's rescue plans doesn't turn out as they'd intended.

Aziraphale hears the thud as Crowley’s body crashes full force with the other side of the now solid wall. His demon screams the angel’s name, as the thumping continues. Aziraphale can only hope those noises are caused by Crowley’s hands and not the poor dear’s already battered body.

“Can’t you wipe his memories of me? Send him away somewhere safe? If Vice takes rule of Hell, as you say will happen, let Crowley live his existence as it would have been without meeting me? Please.” Aziraphale begs. “If you do this for me, I’ll be good. I swear. You can have anything you want, so long as he’s safe and not tormented with these memories.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Vice chuckles.

“You’ll do as I say anyway.” Gabriel pushes Aziraphale against the wall and rebuttons his shirt. “Need you decent for when we’re faced with the rest of the host.”

Once the principality is put back to rights. Gabriel hooks Aziraphale’s arm with his own and tugs him away from the wall and onward to their destination. “And Vice has worked so hard to help me, I have to give them some sort of treat.”

Aziraphale tries to pull away, resulting in Gabriel holding him more firmly. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him. You said if I do as you say, he’ll be safe.”

“I said I wouldn’t kill him.” Gabriel winks at his Hellish counterpart. “I never said I’d withhold Vice from enjoying our spoils.”

“If you lay a single filthy finger on him again, I swear to the Almighty, I will smite you where you stand or die trying.” Aziraphale’s jabs an index finger, angrily at the Lord of Hell, his eyes glow an ethereal blue, his skin begins to hum with holy power. The principality turns on the archangel clamping a bruising grasp on his bicep. “And what use to you, will I be if I’m dead?”

“Don’t worry little bird.” Vice waves their hand as if shooing away a gnat. “I won’t be touching him again in _that_ way. I can honestly tell you from experience, you’re getting the better end of this deal physically. The snake is a poor excuse for a fuck.”

“You given me such grief for loving a demon, yet here you are copulating with one.” The words are out before the angel can stop them. Aziraphale bites back the rest of his rage at Gabriel’s hypocrisy. He needs to find some way to get himself and Crowley out of this mess. To get his demon somewhere safe, that they can both heal and talk. Pissing Gabriel off will not help that goal.

“Vice and I were just having a bit of fun.” They enter Heaven’s main hall and Aziraphale falls silent, suddenly surrounded by the hustling and bustling of angels going about their business. Unknown to them the depravity of the archangel they see as their leader. Gabriel turns him in the direction of two pillars, beyond which opens another corridor. “They were helping me relieve some tension. Besides, it was your face and body I got to watch getting me off each time.”

Aziraphale reminds himself to breath, begs his body to stop shaking. This is all his fault, he’s the one who believed Gabriel could change. He’s the fool that put himself and Crowley into this predicament. How his sweet demon could still love him after all of this is beyond his comprehension. Aziraphale wouldn't blame Crowley if he never wants to speak to him again.

“This is you.” Gabriel announces proudly, producing a set of keys and unlocking a large metal door. Aziraphale hears the gears and mechanisms click as the shining Folger Adam’s key turns in the lock. Beyond is a bedroom with soft white carpet and a white four poster canopy bed. “Wait here for me sunshine, while I escort my friend downstairs.”

The archangel walks the principality to the bed. He traces a thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek and the blond jerks away from Gabriel in disgust.

“Looks like we may need to rough Crowley up a little.” Gabriel licks his lips, winding his fingers in Aziraphale’s curls hard enough to make the shorter angel flinch. “You’re not being very compliant. That is unless you want to leave me with a kiss.”

Aziraphale inhales deeply through his nose and raises his hands to cup Gabriel’s face. He nods. “Yes sir. I forgot myself. Sorry.”

“That’s more like it.” Gabriel uses the leverage he has, to force his mouth against his victim’s. Aziraphale closes his eyes and does his best to respond pleasingly to his aggressor’s movements. It helps to pretend it isn’t Gabriel at all, but someone kinder, gentler. Aziraphale imagines golden eyes and freckled skin, and it eases the queasiness that twists his stomach. After what feels like an eternity Gabriel relinquishes his harsh hold and turns to join Vice. “I expect that and so much more when I return.”

“Yes, sir.” Aziraphale falls to the bed, staring at his shoes, unable to meet the other’s gaze. He waits until the door shuts and for the gears of the lock to click back into place, before he wipes desperately at his mouth to remove the wretched taste the other being has left behind.

The broken angel curls onto his side and begins to weep, for himself, for Crowley, and for the love he hopes isn’t lost to him forever.

* * *

“Where is everyone?” Hastur glances about the wide room. The walls are white with electric torches lining the ceiling for light, the same torches can be seen lighting the way down seven separate corridors branching off from this main room. He thought for sure there would be more angels than this to contend with, but so far, he hasn’t seen a single angelic presence besides Michael. “There are just as many of your kind as my kind, where the fuck you all hiding them all?”

“Like I told Beelzebub, _you’re_ my kind now.” Michael squeezes his arm affectionately. “And I’m not sure. This area is normally busy with angels socializing on their breaks. It hasn’t been used for it’s original purpose in quite a few millennia, except when we cleared it for a few hours last year.”

“What was it’s original purpose?”

“Has it been so long you don’t remember?” She weaves her arm around his waist and waits. “If you really think about it, I’m sure you will.”

Hastur takes it all in, the high walls, the lights and he realizes that it _is_ familiar. The torches were different back then, holy flame instead of electric hum. He has the vague recollection of shouting and crying, of blood and mayhem. Of waiting in a bare cell, bodies pressed upon bodies, in anticipation of a verdict to be followed by burning and darkness and the loss of grace, hope and love.

“This is where we were kept before the Fall.” Hastur wobbles in Michael’s embrace, his legs shaking as the memories come rushing back to him. He recalls the nubs of his fingers bleeding where he had peeled his nails away clawing at the door. Begging for Her forgiveness, for anyone’s forgiveness, so as not to be ripped from the only life he’d ever known. He remembers the archangels, mighty and terrible as they’d beaten him and so many others before casting them screaming into the pits. He's overcome with a surge of that feeling of abandonment that had followed, having lost who he was and his only sense of home and safety.

Michael had been there, the holy warrior, horrible and beyond frightening in her full angelic glory. Without thinking, Hastur pulls away from her embrace, bombarded with his visions of the past. She starts to reach for him but stops herself as if afraid of how he would react to her touch. Instead, she drops her hands to her sides, her face becoming flush and eyes glinting with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was working on orders.”

“Yeah, I get it. Hard to tell the Almighty no.” Hastur’s shoulders sag, he can’t rightly blame her for what she’d done. They were rivals then and neither of them realized Ligur had been in the group rounded up for punishment until it was too late. “If you had, you would’ve ended up just like me.”

“That’s the best part.” Gabriel chimes in from the edge of one of the corridors. “Michael only thought those orders were from God, but God had gone into hiding at least 200 years before the Fall.”

“Why would God go into hiding?” Michael steps in front of Hastur, holding the key to his shackles out to him from behind her back.

“Oh, there are so many things about this universe no one knows.” Gabriel moves from where he leans against the wall and circles the couple. “Well, no one except me anyway. And Vice now, I suppose.”

“I’m not following.” Michael shakes her head. She and Hastur move with Gabriel’s steps in order to keep him in view as well as block him from seeing Hastur unfastening his cuffs. Michael keeps talking, and Hastur assumes it's an attempt to distract her employer while she works on finding them a way out of this. "I think you should explain."

“Yeah, that never works out well, does it?” Vice appears from the same corridor Gabriel had just come. “Giving up your secrets to the enemy.”

“My friend here has the right of it.” Gabriel taps an index finger against his brow then points it towards Vice. Turning to Michael, he holds his hands out, palms up and wiggles his fingers. “If you would please, hand over your demon and I’ll consider letting you live.”

“Fat chance in Hell.” Michael unsheathes her sword as Hastur’s chains rattle and with a loud clank drop to the polished floor.

“What do you plan to accomplish with this nonsense?” Gabriel pulls aside his blazer, revealing what appears to be a human gun and holster. “I mean, maybe if you’d been a bit smarter and got up here a bit faster. Offed Uriel and Sandalphon instead of just knocking them out, they wouldn’t have had time to come running up here to tattle and I wouldn’t have had the time to stop by the armory in order to pick up this little beauty.”

Hastur had never assumed Gabriel to be a genius but it does surprise the demon that the archangel believes they should feel threatened by a human gun. “So, you plan to discorporate us? Send me straight to Hell without the mess of dragging me down?”

“No. If you refuse to cooperate, I plan to destroy you both.” Gabriel brightens like a child being asked about his favorite toy. He pulls the weapon from it’s holster and aims it directly at Michael’s head. “I’ll admit, this is a human gun but the bullets, well, they’re something else entirely.”

“Are they blessed?” Michael moves her body to block Hastur. “Or cursed? Either way you’ll only be capable of destroying one of us.”

Gabriel shakes his head as he begins to step toward them, slowly and with purpose. “Neither blessed nor cursed. Something much better and capable of destroying you both easily.”

“You’re bluffing.” Hastur pulls out his own cursed knife from his waistband. “Michael can take out Vice and I can take out you before that weapon would have a chance to discorporate us. And then what? You’ve had your lot murder all my higher ups, we’d be rid of you. With the both of you gone, it would be easy enough to issue ourselves new bodies and be on our way.”

“Should I show them?” Violet eyes sparkle with a childlike glee.

“I think you should show them.” Vice smiles, their face equally excited.

Gabriel pulls the trigger, the bang that follows echoes off the surrounding walls and the sword in Michael’s hand shatters. She jumps back into Hastur who throws his right hand out to protect her from the blade clasped within. A second shot rings out, demolishing Hastur’s weapon and removing two of his fingers in the process.

“Oops.” Gabriel pulls his lips back in a mock grimace. “Aim was a little off. That’s not gonna be good.”

“Fuck!” Hastur yelps as Michael takes hold of the injured hand and floods the wound with healing energy gaining another expletive from the demon. “Double fuck! Michael that burns!”

“It’s not working.” She begins to unwind the checkered scarf from around Hastur’s neck and wrap it around his injured hand to stop the bleeding. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Short unknown history lesson for you.” Gabriel aims the barrel toward the sky, spinning it in a circle. “All flaming swords are made of seventh metal, the Sunblade was made of eighth metal.”

“Hephaestus forged it for Apollo.” Vice chimes in nearly ecstatic. “It’s called the God-killer.”

“Yeah, these bullets are forged from the same metal.” Gabriel nods to Hastur. “So, you’re not going to heal those digits. They’re gone.”

“Hephaestus? Apollo?” Michael puts an arm around Hastur’s shoulders allowing him to lean against her for support. “Those are mythological deities. There are no Gods but Her.”

“No actually.” Gabriel bites his lip. “Once Satan’s dead and all the demons are gone, there will be no other God but me.”

“Wait?” Vice turns to Gabriel confused. “What the fuck does that mea……”

Before the Lord of Hell can finish, their skull explodes in a spray of blood, brains and bone fragments. Gabriel lowers the weapon, the muzzle still smoking as Vice’s body falls with a thump to the floor.

“So, Michael, I need your help.” Gabriel sighs. Disturbingly his tone is relaxed and not at all that of someone who just annihilated a being he’d been buggering the day before. “When Uriel and Sandalphon approached me, talking of how you’d so easily defeated them, I came to the conclusion I had the wrong archangel on the job.”

Hastur tugs Michael to his chest as Gabriel waves the gun, indicating they should head down the corridor to their right.

“Uriel will be upset if you have me replace her.” Michael stands taller, pulling away from Hastur’s chest in order to block him from Gabriel as they travel in the direction they’ve been ordered. She does continue to hold his injured hand tightly through the scarf to help stifle the bleeding. “She nor Sandalphon are good about taking these things lying down.”

“They both took it as well as Vice.”

Michael gasps at the realization of what he's insinuating. “You’ve gone mad with power.”

“Here’s the deal.” The archarsehole continues, either not hearing or choosing to ignore Michael’s comment. “You march into Hell with my Sunblade and the full host of Heaven. Finish off Satan and all the other demons.” He places the weapon to the back of Hastur’s head. “And I give you this one as your reward to keep and do with as you please.”

"And what will you be doing while she's handling all your dirty work?" Hastur growls, pissed beyond measure at the danger Gabriel is forcing Michael to face.

"Enjoying my own spoils earned from the hard work I've put in over the past 7000 years." The smug bastard winks. They reach the end of the corridor, ahead of them nothing but a blank wall. Gabriel removes the gun from Hastur and places it to Michael’s temple. “When I open this, go in quickly and with no argument Hastur, if you let the other captive escape, Michael’s pretty head will be gone.”

“I love you.” Michael lets go her hold on Hastur’s injured hand. “I’ll be back for you.”

“I know.” The wall slides open and he stumbles inside. Just as the wall closes, he turns to face her once more. “I love you too.”

Hastur collapses to the floor as Michael disappears from his sight. He no longer cares if he bleeds out. He'll only end up in Hell and maybe there he'd be able to find her once more while she's busy offing the others of his kind.

"Hastur?" The Duke of Hell turns to see a tired, flushed Crowley sit up slowly from a similar position on the floor behind him. The redhead starts to babble in desperation. "They have my angel. Gabriel's taken him and the sadistic bastard is going to force himself on Aziraphale, using me as leverage. I can't let that happen. We can't let that happen. What do we do?"

"They have my angel too." Without thinking, Hastur rubs his bloody hand over his face, leaving a trail of red in it's wake. "I don't think there's anything we can do."

"No." Crowley shakes his head, serpentine eyes wide and panicked. "Absolutely fucking no. There has to be something, _anything_."

"Unless you've got something up your sleeve." Oh, how Hastur wishes Crowley does, but by the look of desperation on the others face he knows it's a fool's hope. "I'm so sorry mate. We've lost."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur and Crowley make an escape.

Gabriel rehoslters the weapon and pulls his long suit jacket around to conceal it. Taking Michael by the arm he leads her back the way they came. They walk in silence past Vice’s corpse.

She, as well as everyone else, knew Gabriel had been partaking in a physical relationship with the headless demon at their feet. Sandalphon had told them as much after his and Gabriel’s first meeting with the Lord of Hell. If the archangel was capable of the cold-blooded killing of someone he had been that closely intimate with, none of them were safe.

“Are you not going to clean that up?” Michael asks as Gabriel directs her towards the same corridor he and Vice had stepped from earlier.

“Later.” Gabriel looks to the body, curling his nose in disgust. There is no hint of remorse or loss in those cruel violet eyes. “Everyone has been instructed to stay away from this area and I need to get you set up with your platoon.”

“So, you’ll be sticking around to watch my training, make sure I follow orders?” She wonders how well he’s thought this through. Gabriel has killed everyone who was privy to his plan and willing to work with him as far as she can see. Michael hates for Aziraphale to pay the price for their freedom but if Gabriel is busy doing, whatever it is he’ll be doing with the principality, what stops her from storming back through these corridors and freeing Hastur and Crowley? “Or are you going to trust me unsupervised while you’re be off enjoying your spoils?”

“Don’t want me looking over your shoulder?” Gabriel smirks. “Oh, maybe your worried Aziraphale will come to the same fate as Vice?”

“I might be.” Michael lies. She actually hadn’t thought of that until now, but it is a valid concern. Gabriel is unhinged.

“If it does happen, it won’t be anytime soon.” They step into a large hall filled with other angels bustling about in preparations. Gabriel drops his voice and leans close. “I’ve waited much to long to have him, I can’t see myself growing sick of him for a long while. If ever.”

The other angels notice the two archangels’ arrival and come to attention. Gabriel waves his hand dismissively and speaks loud enough for all in the hall to hear. “Go on about your business, Michael will let you know when she’s ready for you. You’re wait won’t be much longer.”

_He is actually planning to leave me alone_. Michael realizes this as well as the fact that there is little chance he would have informed the rest of the host of his full plan. All she’ll need to do is inform the other angels that Gabriel’s not only rebelled against, but full-on destroyed the Almighty. After that, there will be no chance in Heaven they’d continue to follow his orders. _Is he truly so far gone in his arrogance he doesn’t comprehend how he’s set himself up for failure?_

Michael tries not to smile through her rising hope. The moment Gabriel is out of her sight, she only needs to call the forces of Heaven together to subdue him. Afterwards she will be free to save and free Aziraphale and then she and Aziraphale can release Hastur and Crowley. She nearly thanks God for this opportunity before she remembers, there is no one left to thank.

Gabriel points her in the direction of the armory, and she goes without protest. Soon, very soon, this nightmare will be over. The normally locked doors swing open with a push, telling Michael someone is inside waiting. She is expecting the armorer, her heart drops, when instead she sees Metatron, not in the form he usually shows himself on earth (which she’s always found to be a bit pompous and ridiculous) but in his human corporation. He raises his eyebrows in question at her and Gabriel’s approach. “Have you done away with our remaining loose end?”

“I’ve disposed of Vice but I’m keeping Crowley and Hastur in the old cells.” Gabriel pushes Michael forward. “Crowley to keep my new consort in line and Hastur as a reward for Michael if she does her job well.”

“I see no harm in that.” Metatron tilts his head looking Michael over. “Do you think she can wield it?”

“If anyone can, it would be her.” Gabriel moves to the exit. “I’ve battled with it and won. Michael is a superior swordsperson to myself.”

“Good.” Metatron waves Gabriel on his way. “Enjoy your new toy sir. I’ll make sure this one does as she’s told, and you won’t be interrupted unless she doesn’t.”

Michael watches as Gabriel leaves, shutting the door behind him before turning her attention to Metatron. “We have to stop this.”

“Why is that?” His face continues to show no emotion. Even with his human frame his voice is still large and intimidating.

“He’s murdered God because he thirsts for power. He’s done the same to Uriel and Sandalphon for doing no more than disappointing him.” Michael doesn’t know Metatron well, in fact no one but Gabriel ever converses with him but she’s running on the hope that he’s someone to be swayed. “You and I are only one mistake away from destruction as well. But if we tell the others of his crimes, we’ll be able to stop his tyranny.”

“My job is to repeat his orders and let him know of anyone who doesn’t follow through.” Metatron waves off her words with a flap of his hand. “I don’t see how failure is something I should fear. However, I could inform the masses of your literal demons, past and present. How long do you suppose Hastur or yourself would survive, should the others find out about your coupling?”

“We haven’t coupled.” Michael hates how the other archangel makes the act sound so dirty.

“Not yet.” His cold features never move, but there is a twinkle of amusement in Metatron’s eyes. “But you were planning to. Why else would Gabriel offer him to you as a prize? And don’t think we aren’t already aware of Ligur.”

“Gabriel was _coupling_ with Vice.” She lifts her chin and attempts at keeping her own features free of emotion. “At least I’ve been in love both times. Gabriel was only using the Lord of Hell and then murdered them in cold blood once he’d had his way. If you tell the Host of my relationship, I tell them all of Gabriel’s.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Metatron scoffs. “Anyone to corroborate your story is either dead, a demon or a known traitor. It would be your word against mine and Gabriel’s and we have the photos of you and Ligur to validate our accusations.”

Michael looks around the armory, the last time she was here was a little over 6000 years ago. She had been young, only a little over 1500, and ready to please her superiors. To fight and risk dying for a cause that she might not understand but was told was right. She nearly lost her lover that day due to her loyalty. She doesn’t want to run the same risk again. “I don’t want to massacre demons. I don’t want a war.”

“It’s either all the demons in Hell, or the two we’re holding prisoner.” Metatron moves towards a metallic panel on the far wall and opens it. He withdraws from inside a flaming sword. Michael sees nothing overly special about it aside from the guard and hilt. The guard comes down to cover one side of the hilt. It is solid and made of bronze except for a golden sun with eyes in it’s center. The other sides of the hilt are open, allowing Michael to see the swirling design in the red wood. “I’m certain I already know your choice.”

“Yes.” Michael tries to hold back her disappointment. Things are looking dire, but she refuses to let herself give up. Instead she looks for more information, anything that might help her cause, so she reaches out to the blade in Metatron’s grasp. “So, that’s the God killer is it? Doesn’t look anymore threatening than any other flaming sword I’ve seen.”

“It is and wait until you hold it. This is a power unlike any other.” Metatron shifts so that his body is between Michael and the Sunblade. He pulls aside his jacket to show her a similar gun to Gabriel’s on his side. “Don’t think of trying anything. I don’t care how fast you are with a sword, a bullet is always faster.”

* * *

Hastur has caught Crowley up on everything. Apparently Gabriel has flipped his wig and there’s nothing between the sadistic twat and Aziraphale now that he and Crowley have been separated.

Crowley throws out his senses in search of Aziraphale. He learned long ago that if he tries, he can find his Angel anywhere, granted the both of them are in the same realm of existence. This is why it was so easy for Crowley to locate him earlier when escaping Vice.

After feeling out through several corridors and hallways, the demon is able to pin-point his specific angel. Crowley feels Aziraphale’s despair and wishes he could be with him, hold him, and tell him this will all be alright. Unfortunately, everything is not alright. Crowley’s only relief is it the fact that Aziraphale seems to be alone. Crowley is unable to sense any of the fear and anxiety that would be present if Gabriel were there doing whatever God-awful things he plans to do.

_I love you._ Crowley’s never tried this before but he hopes it works _. Please, whatever happens, hang on as long as you can and never forget that I love you._

“What are you doing?” Hastur’s gravelly voice breaks his concentration.

Crowley doesn’t open his eyes. “I’m trying to send Aziraphale a message.”

“With your mind?” The Duke sounds doubtful.

“Yes, with my mind.” Crowley opens his eyes to roll them. “But it’s not working very well because you keep interrupting me.”

“Do you do this often?” Hastur looks excited. Crowley’s never seen him look anything but angry or bored. “Could you teach me how to contact Michael? Like a brain wave telephone chat, **OH MY BLOODY FUCK!”**

Hastur yells so loud and suddenly, Crowley crab walks away from him in fear. Again, realizing the Duke is happy and not about to attack, Crowley pushes against the wall and catches his breath. “What!?”

“They didn’t shake me down.” Hastur smiles while digging into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. He pulls the slim device from his pocket. “AHA!”

“Hastur, never thought I’d say this, but you’re my hero right now, mate.” Crowley rushes to Hastur’s side as he skims through the contacts. “Who do we dial? Aziraphale and I weren’t issued these things, so he’s not an option.”

“Michael is up to her ears in Heaven’s soldiers right now, so she’s out.” Hastur squints his eyes and draws his brow in concentration. “Not ready for the three of us to take on 10 million.”

“Nah, wouldn’t be good.” Crowley excitedly pats Hastur’s arm. “One of the dead one’s. Vice, Uriel or Sandalphon.”

“Vice is the only one confirmed cause I watched it happen.” Hastur scrolls to the V’s. “Don’t trust Gabriel’s word on the other two. Had us thinking they were dead once before this, then they show up a few hours later to kill me and take Michael.”

“Vice’s phone then.” Crowley is practically bouncing with nervous energy. They’re going to get out of this room, and he’s going to find Aziraphale.

“I can’t find the contact.” Hastur goes again to the top of the V’s and back down.

“Maybe Gabriel listed you all in each phone under your angel names. Ya know for safety reasons, _Halriel._ ” Crowley curls his lip on the name and drops his voice teasingly.

“Shut up. I knew that was just testing you.” Hastur quips back, and Crowley can’t help but smile at the drastic change in his former employer. That is until Hastur’s face contorts in concern again. “We aren’t armed and anyone who sees us will kill us on sight.”

“It’s a risk we’re going to have to take.” Crowley reaches over Hastur’s shoulder and taps the contact listed Raphael. “For Aziraphale and Michael.”

“For Aziraphale and Michael.” As the first tone rings on the phone Hastur points to Crowley. “Don’t lock me in the machine this time.”

“We’ll see how I feel when we reach the other end of the line.” Crowley claps his new friend on the back jovially and two demons vanish into the electromagnetic energy that surrounds us all.

They re-emerge a minute later in a large, empty room. Vice’s phone had apparently slid from their pocket at the time of their body’s collapse and had stopped several feet from the body.

“Glad for the distance, kept us from tearing a pants pocket or something.” Crowley takes Vice’s phone from its place on the floor. “Best if the body isn’t disturbed when archarsehole gets back. Maybe he won’t notice us missing for a while.”

“Do you think I should text Michael and let her know we got out, or you think that might be too risky?” Hastur tugs at the scarf around his injured hand. Thankfully, the wound has stopped bleeding.

“I say give it a try.” Crowley weighs their options. “If Gabriel hasn’t thought to shake you down just yet, he won’t have thought to do the same to her. Plus, might be good to have her ready when we get Aziraphale so the lot of us can just up and go.”

“Where would we go, that Heaven won’t find us?” Hastur snatches the phone from Crowley’s hand and texts.

“We could find a pocket of the universe they won’t think to look.” Crowley’s been setting on these options since the failed Armageddon. “Or we find an area on earth and cloak it in hopes they don’t find us.”

“If Michael and Aziraphale are willing, the four of us can join Hell.” Hastur hands the phone back to a gaping Crowley. “We explain this entire mess to King Lucifer, I think he’d understand.”

“You would hand the King of Hell our angels?” Whatever friendly respect Crowley had been developing toward his former boss was beginning to dissipate quickly. “Watch them Fall? Let them suffer that agony?”

“I said we ask if that’s something they want to risk. If not, we all stay on the run.” Hastur looks at him piteously. “But if they’ll take that option, it’s better than losing them forever. You think Aziraphale if faced with the option of being raped daily by Gabriel or Fall for you, your principality wouldn’t choose to Fall?”

“It’s an option, but a last resort.” Crowley hates to admit it but Hastur is right. He begins scrolling through the apps on the smart phone. “And only if that’s what Aziraphale chooses.”

“You think I’m that much of a piece of shit to take Michael’s free will like that?” Hastur’s tone and features express his hurt.

“There was a time I would’ve answered with a definite yes.” Crowley finds what he’s looking for and opens the app. “And I’m still not so sure what I think for certain, but I trust you enough to work with you.”

“Can’t fault ya for being careful.” Hastur cranes his neck when Crowley heads down one of the corridors, glancing periodically from his surroundings to the phone. “Whatcha lookin’ at there?”

”Vice would’ve openly walked these halls as Raphael to establish themself as a valid member of Heaven’s society before they and Gabriel put their plan into motion. Ya, know triumphant return of the long, lost hero and all that. Probably spun some sort of fantastic tale even about where they’d been.” Crowley studies the top of the door frames and the Enochian numbers etched over each.

“Either that, or they did a mass scale memory manipulation.” Hastur bobs his head from side to side. “Or a mix of both.”

“However, they did it, during that time they would have needed to seem as if they knew what they were doing and where they were going.” Crowley holds the screen out for Hastur to see the map of Heaven.

“So, where are we going first?”

“Locksmith, they’ll have all the copies of keys for every door.” Crowley just hopes that the area in which it’s located isn’t high traffic. “Then to release my angel.”

“What if Gabriel has the only key?”

“There always has to be one extra copy for when keys break to make the replacement.” A drop-down banner appears on the screen from Michael. “Your angel got her message. She says to let her know when and where to meet when it’s time.”

Crowley considers sending a text asking if the locksmith’s quarters are somewhere isolated but decides Michael most likely took a chance responding to Hastur’s message. Best to not bother her again until time to leave.

“They’ve moved a lot of the rooms around.” Crowley thinks out loud. “The locksmith is around the corner from the armory now. So, we may be able to slide in and out as long as the room is vacant and no one is turning down that hall.”

“Won’t they keep an area like that locked?”

“Fuck.” Crowley freezes pushing the cell phone into Hastur’s hand. The wave of fear and panic screams out to him from down a side corridor and he begins to run towards Aziraphale’s subconscious call. “Go get your angel, do whatever you need to escape. Mine needs me now!”

“You can’t just run to his rescue unarmed!” Hastur calls after him. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

Crowley doesn’t respond or stop, as his footfalls pound down the long, stark corridors. He **_WILL NOT_** allow Aziraphale to suffer the same pain he has. Gabriel will need to kill the demon before Crowley will let him lay a finger on his Angel.

As Crowley runs the floor begins to shake, the entirety of Heaven quaking beneath his feet. From somewhere in the direction which he has just come, a loud echo of shouts and what sound to be war cries erupt.

Crowley quickens his pace. He needs to get to Aziraphale all the more now, because unless Hell has decided to attack Heaven first (which is extremely unlikely as it would involve Lucifer knowing Gabriel’s plan), he, Michael and Hastur have just been found out.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley bursts in to save the day again. Let's see how that works out this time.

The room is roughly four meters in length by four meters in width. The bed is large and plush, a king size mattress and frame with a sheer white canopy created from the same light fabric covering the sides. A white, clean world of it’s own and Aziraphale absolutely loathes the monstrosity. He might have found it beautiful in any other setting but here, in this chamber of promised pain and horror, it makes him positively ill.

There are no windows, no phones, no means of communication or escape, only the locked door from which he had been forced to enter.

Aziraphale worries for Crowley, would Vice and Gabriel stay to their word? Will Vice honestly keep their hands to themself and refrain from hurting his demon further. Aziraphale doubts it, there is nothing honest about Gabriel or Vice that he’s seen.

Aziraphale hates himself nearly as much as he hates his captors. Had he only believed Crowley when his dearest friend had tried to tell him the right of things, they might be far, far away from here by now. But no, Aziraphale had listened to the archangel who had spent his entire existence harassing and abusing him. Vice’s mind control or not, Aziraphale knows he truly is a prat.

There’s not even something to be used as a weapon, not that Aziraphale will fight when Crowley’s life is on the line. So, having finally given up on finding a means of escape, Aziraphale lays across the bed, hidden the best he can behind the sheer drapery and awaits his eternal fate.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Crowley, picturing his face, his lovely hair and beautiful eyes. Aziraphale wonders if he will ever be permitted to see him again. He knows Gabriel will never allow him to touch the demon, the archangel is much too possessive for all that. But if Aziraphale asks for periodic proof of Crowley’s safety, surely that could be granted. How does Gabriel hope to keep him in line without that incentive? It might not be much but Aziraphale doesn’t want to lose that image of Crowley in his mind, never wants to forget how his one true love looks.

_I love you_. The words reach him as if travelling through the ether and into his very essence. In his mind the voice is Crowley’s and Aziraphale can’t decipher if he’s losing his grasp on reality or the demon is somehow communication with him. _Please, whatever happens, hang on as long as you can and never forget that I love you._

“I won’t my darling.” Aziraphale sobs, tears streaming over his cheek and wetting his hair as he lies facing the ceiling. “I’ll hold on for you and your love. I hope you know I love you as well, and I’m so, so sorry my dearest heart.”

Whatever connection, if any, is suddenly gone. Slipping from Aziraphale so suddenly that the principality wonders if it was ever truly there at all. He continues to nurse his heartache for several minutes longer before exhausting himself and drifting into a fitful sleep.

He dreams. Some of the images Aziraphale’s mind conjures are of somewhere better. He is nestled in his bookshop, these last few days the horrible dream from which he has finally woke. Crowley is with him, sprawled across the old sofa and inviting Aziraphale to join him. They laugh, drink, chat and cuddle one another tightly. Eventually they kiss gently and Aziraphale has never felt more love for anyone or anything in all of time.

Then there are other dreams, horrid dreams. Nightmares really. Crowley is in these ones too, reaching for him, pleading with Aziraphale for mercy that the principality can not give. The demon suffers because of him and it’s more pain than Aziraphale can take.

He wakes with a start from one such dream, Crowley begging him to stay, to not leave him with their tormentors and Aziraphale is powerless to comply. The two of them drug away from each other, Crowley’s beautiful face full of fear and stained in tears.

Sitting up in bed, his terror grows even more, as Aziraphale registers the sound of the room’s lock click and the door swing open. He starts shuffling up from where he lays, doing what he can to prepare himself mentally for what is coming.

“No, stay there.” Gabriel smiles, his eyes alight with excitement as he shuts the door behind him. “Undress for me but stay on the bed.”

Aziraphale notices that Gabriel, in all his arrogance, doesn’t lock the door behind him. A part of his brain tells him to run, to bolt out that door, but he finds he can’t move. Not that an outside force has taken the ability away, he just isn’t able to bring himself to do so. If he fails, Crowley dies, and he can’t have that blood on his hands.

“I said, undress Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s excitement shifts into something more threatening. “Unless you want me to punish the demon? I can let you watch what I do to him, if that’s something that might turn you on.”

“I apologize.” Aziraphale forces himself to move. He shakes his head and begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t wish to see that.”

“Pity.” Gabriel hangs his jacket on a hook beside the door and Aziraphale’s horror intensifies. On the archangel’s side is a large weapon, much bigger than most side arms. Aziraphale has seen such pieces of artillery before, when the gun was first produced in Israel in the mid 1990’s. A .50 caliber Desert Eagle, one of the two most powerful handguns ever manufactured by humanity and frighteningly powerful in it’s destructive abilities. Gabriel proceeds to unfasten his belt. As he slips it through the loops, he is careful to hold his weapon to keep it from falling and lays it gently on the nightstand. “Although, I admit, I’d rather he not be in your thoughts while we get on with our activities.”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale’s throat feels dry. This is happening, no matter how much he wishes it wouldn’t. His eyes stay focused on the gun for a bit too long before he brings them to the archangel’s face. Gabriel notices.

“I’m trusting you to not try anything stupid sunshine.” Gabriel curls his upper lip in a threatening sneer. “If something should happen to me, Metatron will see to your snake and his friends accordingly.”

“I would never, sir.” Aziraphale pushes his shirt from his shoulders. “We shouldn’t discuss them. This should be about us, yes?”

He gives his predator the brightest smile he can muster. As sick as this entire situation makes him feel, Aziraphale will force himself to do well, to be good, in hopes that maybe Gabriel will someday do as he had earlier asked, wipe Crowley’s memories of him and let the demon go free.

“Yes, I agree it should.” Gabriel’s gaze wanders over the other’s body. Aziraphale undoes the buttons of his trousers and pushes them off. He keeps the pleasant look plastered on his face as the archangel follows suit.

His outward appearance might seem calm but Aziraphale is screaming inside. His nerves on high alert as every part of him shouts for him to run and fight, to escape this unwanted fate.

With both of them in nothing more than boxers and socks, Gabriel strides to Aziraphale and runs his hands along the shorter angel’s torso. “It’s nearly grotesque how far you’ve let yourself go. Has Crowley truly never seen you in a state of undress?”

“No sir, never.” Aziraphale feels his face redden at the insult.

“Shame, would have likely made this much easier for me.” The archangel’s fingers prod at Aziraphale’s plush stomach. “Can’t see him wanting to go very far with you physically if he was faced with this.”

Even with the embarrassment caused by Gabriel’s cruel words, hope swells inside Aziraphale. _Perhaps he wants to back out. Wait until he’s gotten me slimmed down. Maybe I won’t have to suffer this torture today?_

“Don’t worry, sunshine.” Gabriel gives him a mock pout and cups the side of his face. “I’m still going to fuck you senseless. We just have a lot of to do work in the days ahead.”

And just like that, what little hope Aziraphale had shatters. He takes a deep inhale of air as Gabriel hooks his thumbs in the elastic of the blond’s pants and pushes the last remaining barrier he has away.

“Take off those abysmal stockings, roll over and offer me your ass.” Gabriel squeezes the principality’s bare cock and Aziraphale isn’t able to hold back his whimper of fear. “Hush now pet, you had best make me believe you like this.”

“Yes sir.” Aziraphale, again, does as he’s directed. His body shudders at the sounds of the angel behind him removing the last of his attire as well, the creak of the bed and then the feeling Gabriel’s body pressing against him from behind.

For a brief second, the bed beneath them seems to vibrate.

“Am I making you that excited pet, that you would quake?” Gabriel’s cock pushes at his entrance and Aziraphale realizes the horrible bastard isn’t even planning to prepare him. He begins to cry, knowing Gabriel is planning to take him violently, use him in the most vicious way imaginable. “Look at that, already making me feel so powerful. Tell me you’re mine sunshine.”

The door to the room crashes open, slamming loudly against the wall and knocking Gabriel’s jacket to the floor. Crowley stands in the doorway, fangs and claws extended. He’s sprouted scales across his neck, arms and in places across his sharp cheekbones. “Get the fuck off of him!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale panics as Gabriel goes for the gun. Lunging for the weapon himself he cries. “No, darling! Run, he’ll kill you!”

“Don’t give a shit.” The demon growls and joins in the mad dash for the side arm. “I’m not letting this happen.”

Aziraphale reaches the weapon first, but only just barely. As his palm wraps around the cold metal, both of Gabriel’s larger paws encompass his. Aziraphale fights to get a proper hold and Gabriel pulls at his fingers, prying them back. Seconds later Crowley slams his body into Gabriel, and his slender digits fight to get Gabriel’s away from Aziraphale’s.

“Didn’t think you’d want a threesome, snake.” Gabriel laughs, much too full of bravado and Aziraphale grows angry at the lewd suggestion. “But this does seem fun.”

“Fuck off.” Crowley sneers, unimpressed by Gabriel’s innuendo. While the archangel is occupied with Aziraphale’s hold on the gun, the demon raises his extended claws and swipes deep gashes into Gabriel’s bare back.

The leader of Heaven yells out in pain and rage, relinquishing his grasp on Aziraphale’s hands and turns his full attention to Crowley. That moment of blind instinct on the archangel’s part gives Aziraphale the freedom needed to take hold of the Desert Eagle and roll onto his back. With a force that makes Aziraphale worry for Crowley’s well-being, Gabriel tosses the demon across the room and then turns in shock to find the barrel of his own weapon pointed at his head.

“Get off of me.” Aziraphale places his index finger across the trigger. “ _Now_.”

The archangel does as he’s ordered and once the weight of him is removed from over Aziraphale, the blond slides off the opposite side of the bed and snaps his fingers. His clothing restored, he looks over to Crowley who is groaning and trying to catch his bearings enough to once again stand.

“Are you alright my dear?” Aziraphale keeps the weapon trained on Gabriel, who remains naked beside the bed, and moves to help Crowley stand.

“Yeah, hit my head is all.” Crowley rubs a hand to the back of his flaming hair. He pauses to scan over Aziraphale. “Are you okay? Please, Dove, tell me I wasn’t too late.”

“Right on time as always my dear.” Aziraphale takes in his poor demon’s tired exposed eyes and wishes he could kiss him silly, beg for forgiveness and heal every ache and pain he knows Crowley must be suffering. But there is no time for that now, they need to get out of Heaven and find somewhere they can hide.

“You really think you can escape me?” Gabriel snaps his fingers fully restoring his garments as well. “Where would you go, Aziraphale, that I wouldn’t be able to find you? I control all of Heaven and very soon the universe. There isn’t a source of power that’s not available to me.”

“Let’s go Angel.” Crowley lays a hand gently on his Aziraphale’s waist. “Don’t let him get in your head again Dove.”

“Angel? Dove? Such sweet pet names. How unfittingly cute.” The archangel scoffs, pushing himself to his feet. “I mean, you are still technically an angel, for now.” His lip curls in a grotesque sneer. “But he says it with such adoration and awe. As if you’re something pure and beautiful instead of a worthless little slut, chasing the basement’s filth.”

“Don’t you speak of him that way.”/”Watch your tongue when you talk about him or I’ll rip it out.” Aziraphale and Crowley say simultaneously, and respectively.

“I’ll find you and when I do, I’ll make you watch as I force your precious demon into a holy water bath.” Gabriel takes a much too confident step in Aziraphale direction. “You’ll never escape me fully. All you’ve done now is ensure Crowley’s death.”

“Let’s go, Aziraphale.” Crowley nudges his Angel in the direction of the exit. “He won’t find us. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Oh, but I will.” Gabriel continues his advance.

“Stay where you are.” Aziraphale backs away from the archangel making sure to keep the gun on their aggressor and allows Crowley’s gentle hand to lead him to the door. “Don’t follow us.”

“There is no way you’ll escape me for good. I’ll have all of eternity.” Gabriel pays the principality’s request no heed. He stalks ever closer, head held high. “But if you give me back that weapon right now, I’ll do as you asked earlier.”

Crowley stops moving, his fist curling into the fabric of Aziraphale’s shirt. “What did you ask him Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale turns to face his demon, pleading with his eyes for Crowley to understand. “For him to wipe all memories of me from your mind and set you free to never be harmed or harassed again.”

“Well, that only works if he succeeds in taking charge and keeps his word.” Crowley looks to Aziraphale beseechingly. “Which he won’t keep his word. He’s already broke his deal with Vice. Murdered them in cold blood. With that.” He taps the gun in Azirapahle’s grasp. “It won’t just discorporate him, it’ll destroy him. He took out God Herself with the blasted thing!”

“Then, truly, I have only three options here.” Aziraphale steadies the gun’s muzzle at his long-time harasser. “One, stay here, let you rape me and kill Crowley. Two, run off, get a few days, weeks, years or months of freedom until you find me, rape me and kill Crowley. Or three, I kill you right now and Crowley and I live happily ever after.” He pauses, raising his other hand to better handle the kick. He’s seen this weapon jerk out of many a shooter’s hand when they’d underestimated it’s power. “Oh, my. Whichever will I choose?”

“Give me the gun Aziraphale.” Crowley moves beside him and lifts a hand for the weapon. “Let me do it, if you do it you might Fall.”

“Would be completely worth it.” Aziraphale twitches his elbow, gently shrugging Crowley away. “Besides if he can kill God with it and not Fall, damn sure I’m safe for destroying him.”

“He won’t do it anyway, he’s too soft.” Gabriel goads. “Aren’t you, you weak, worthless, piece of shit. You’re nothing sunshine. You’ve always been nothing and you’re so fucking stubborn and stupid, you always will be nothing.”

“Ssssshut your hateful trap.” Crowley hisses. “Give me the gun, Angel. Let me do this for you.”

“No.” And with that, Aziraphale pulls the trigger. The gun kicks sharply but he’s able to easily control it.

“Try that again.” Gabriel laughs, the bullet hits him mid-sternum and bounces off.

“What the fuck?” Crowley whispers, taking Aziraphale by the arm and tugging him quickly to the door. Aziraphale fires four more times in quick succession, ending each time with the same results. “Move, Angel!”

Aziraphale decides it’s time to follow Crowley’s instructions.

“You still got one more bullet left in that magazine sunshine.” Gabriel calls from behind them. “Sure you don’t want to use it?”

“He’s going to catch us, Crowley!” Aziraphale pants. “We’re not going to get away.”

Crowley pulls him down several corridors and hallways until Aziraphale can run no more. From somewhere in the distance, he hears shouting, but it’s not Gabriel. The noises are coming from the direction of the main hall and armory.

“What’s happening out there Crowley?” Aziraphale places the gun on the floor so that he can pull Crowley into his arms.

“I’m not sure, but it started while I was rushing off to save you.” Crowley winds his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. “I left Michael and Hastur back there, I think they might have been discovered.”

“None of us are getting out of here alive, are we?” Aziraphale desperately clings to his demon.

“You will.” Crowley starts to tear up, both knowing what Gabriel intends for the blond is a fate worse than death. “But I won’t. I’m sorry Angel. I couldn’t save you this time.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Aziraphale cups Crowley’s cheek and leads the demon’s lips to his own. Crowley’s grip tightens in his hair and Aziraphale pulls their bodies as tightly together as possible. They cling to one another with the intensity that comes with knowing your world is really and truly going to end. No way out, no alternatives. Game over.

They hear footsteps approaching quickly from the way they came and from the direction of the main hall, causing them to pull apart.

“I love you, Aziraphale.” Crowley pushes one more kiss into the skin of Aziraphale’s forehead. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted or needed. Thank you for spending 6000 years by my side.”

“Oh. My darling, I love you too.” Aziraphale blinks and tears cascade down his face. He pulls from Crowley briefly in order to crouch down and take the Desert Eagle back into hand. “And I’m not leaving you now.”

“You’re not going to take out the whole of Heaven with one bullet.” Crowley shakes his head in confusion.

“No, but you’re going to die no matter what we do, yes?” Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s eyes blow wide in understanding and nods. “Then I plan to follow. One bullet, two soulmates following one another into whatever is next.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley sounds so broken and Aziraphale’s heart aches. “I don’t want you to die.”

“And I don’t want to live without you. I don’t want to spend my days and nights in that monster’s bed.” Aziraphale gestures to Gabriel who is now within view. He turns to Crowley and places the muzzle to his temple. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.” The gun is yanked from Aziraphale’s grip by an invisible force and flies into the hand of the speaker. An angel and demon turn to face the warm brown eyes of their hero, who tilts his head with a smirk. “Your savior is here.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this adventure, but the beginning of the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can see, this is the last chapter and before you start this chapter, let me say, I realized this story is going to have at least one sequel. So, you'll noticed there are a lot of questions I've left open and unanswered. That's because those will all be handled in the next story. If you want to get notifications for that story, subscribe to this series I'm calling **Children of the Gods.**
> 
> Heads up, I took the same liberties with the Norse religion that I did the Abrahamic.

**24 Hours Earlier**

Jesus wakes in a soft bed of drifting snow. The sky above him is dark and serene with stars speckled like diamonds before him. He lay there trying to collect his thoughts. He had just been in Hell, a dagger pressed into his chest by his own hands. It had been hot, nearly suffocatingly so, but now the cold of the night air gathers around him and chills his bones.

“Good, you’re awake.” Comes a powerful female voice from somewhere just outside his vision. “I’ve been waiting millennia to meet you.”

Jesus pushes himself into a sitting position, looking in the direction of the speaker. She stands just to his right, leaning against an old, gnarled ash tree. Four stags, two on each side, stand just behind her feeding on the bark and low hanging limbs of the ancient foliage. At the top is perched an eagle, whose dark eyes watch him intently.

The woman who had addressed him is tall, at nearly 3 meters in height she towers at least half the height of the fully grown tree. Her hair is long, a dark blonde, cascading well below her waist and fashioned in a series of ornate braids starting along her scalp and then fusing into a single braid at the nape of her neck that hangs down her back. Her jawline is strong, her brow wide and Jesus can tell there is a strength to her that very few mortals, angels, demons or demigods could contend with. She is dressed in what looks to be leather armor and wears a long coat made of furs.

“Where am I?” He asks, rising to his feet and approaching her. The backdropped to their meeting looks as beautiful and dangerous as his new companion, dark forests cover an unending expanse of tall mountain peaks. “And who are you?”

“You stand before me at the entrance to Jötunheimr.” She smiles at him kindly and holds her left hand out to her side. With a flick of her extended appendage, another warm coat of furs appears in her fingers. She does the same with her right and produces fur boots. She offers both to him to place on his bare feet and thinly clothed shoulders. “My name is Angrboða. Walk with me?”

Jesus gratefully accepts the offerings and once dressed follows the towering woman along the edge of the dark woods. “Are you my Mother?”

“No child, but I am your grandmother.” Angrboða looks up into the sky as if remembering something beautiful yet sad. “I met your Mother, the one that is not my daughter, nearly eight thousand years ago.”

“That’s impossible.” Jesus looks down to his new shoes in confusion. “Miriam is human. There’s no way you could have known her for eight millennia.”

Angrboða chuckles, the sound carries deep and rumbling through the mountains and valleys. “Miriam is not your mother.” She pauses and tilts her head considering. “I mean, I suppose she is in the emotional sense, in the truest ways one can be a mother. What I should say instead is, she is not your biological mother.”

“She carried me for nine months and pushed me out of..” He pauses, trying to think of a polite way to word it. He gestures down. “Of there.”

“Yes, but Miriam was a surrogate, there’s not a speck of human in you at all.” She leads him over a hill and towards an abnormally tall longhouse. A warm glow emits from the inside through the shuttered windows.

“I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.” Jesus waits as she opens the longhouse’s door and ushers him inside. “Can you please explain it all in full? Why am I not dead, who my mothers are and why I was led to believe so many things that are apparently not true?”

Angrboða sighs and gestures for him to take a seat at a large table. Jesus has to pull himself into one of the tall chairs, the seat of which is mid-torso high for him. She pours them both a dark liquid from a ceramic pitcher into two horns. “The Goddess you have always known was your Mother was not from this universe and only went by the name of Goddess in the universe from which She came.”

“She never had a name?” Jesus accepts the dark liquid, it warms his insides as it goes down.

“She didn’t need one there, She was the only Goddess of that realm and the wife of the only God.” Angrboða moves to the opposite side of the table and claims her own seat. “Together they were the Mother and Father of all of their angels.”

“What of their demons and humans?” Jesus takes another long draught of his drink, a warm buzz relaxing his cold muscles.

“Demons were a different species entirely and only created after the humans, when a need for Hell was decided.” She bites her lip, her eyes looking over him appreciatively. The way a grandmother would a child she hasn’t seen in a long time. “You see, in Her universe there was no Fall, Lucifer remained an angel and was unfortunately the child put in charge of punishment of humans who were too far gone to help. The demons were created as another species entirely and as soulless minions to work under his rule.”

His hostess has already drained her horn and pours herself another. “Her husband grew tired of Her and tried to murder her. She escaped to find the son who had been forced from their Heaven into a job he didn’t want. The poor child even killed one of his own siblings to keep Her safe and sent Her here with a flaming sword and a satchel of precious metals to free Her from that realm’s God and His threats.”

They sit in silence allowing the information to settle between them. After a refill of his own, Jesus urges her to continue. “So, She came here and created a Heaven, Hell and earth of Her own?”

“With some help, yes.” Angrboða nods. “You see, we were dealing with a crisis of our own. In this universe, there are multiple gods and goddesses.” She releases a heavy sigh. “I, like the goddess, had made the mistake of copulating with the wrong god.” The giantess smiles sheepishly. “He wished to use our three children against me and all the other gods. To bring about an end of everything.”

She pauses and Jesus notices her eyes begin to tear. Angrboða wipes them away with the back of her hand before continuing. “My daughter is safe, Óðinn gifted to her a kingdom of her own. To rule over and protect her from the other gods, but my other two children were not safe. So, when Goddess asked to create a world similar to the one she had just left, but better, we agreed on the grounds that She would hide my still endangered children there.”

“Am I one of those children?” Jesus knows she had said she is his grandmother, but why would she be telling him all this if it wasn’t relevant to him somehow?

“No, you came much later.” Angrboða smirks. “Goddess did not birth these angels, She created them from the pulp of the apples from the tree of the goddess Iðunn. So, they are not siblings but separate independent creations entirely. But She did give a few of them the same names as some children she had left behind.”

“This is all very complicated.” Jesus shakes his head.

“Yes.” Angrboða refills her mug yet again and pushes on. “It was among these angels that I placed my children. Goddess gave the other angels abilities similar to those of my sons and their father. They can shift their genders at will and can take on the form of an animal.”

“Only demons have an animal form.” Jesus corrects her.

“There is at least one angel who can, whether he realizes it or not.” Angrboða stares wistfully into her glass.

“So your other son went with the Fallen then?” Jesus realizes the implication of her words. “Why would the Goddess let that happen?”

“She didn’t.” Angrboða meets his eyes again. “You see, before She created your Heaven and earth, She had one of citizens of Niðavellir create for Her an abundance of the metals She had been sent from Her previous home with and used these metals in the creation of it all. Those elements are infused into the structure of Heaven, Hell and earth and are able to be mined and used if the discoverer knows how.”

“I don’t know where Niðavellir is.” Jesus is finding her explanations are leaving him more confused.

“Not important to your story, but my sons are. I’ll get to that shortly.” Angrboða sighs. “I’m sorry, I keep going on side tangents, but they’re relevant I swear. You see, Gabriel discovered that the original flaming sword, the Sunblade, is capable of destroying Goddesses and celestial beings alike. He is proud and self-centered, much like his father, and threatened to kill the Goddess with it. She came back here to hide from his wrath. It was during this time that She and my daughter Hel fell in love and later conceived you.”

“Gabriel is one of your children.” Jesus feels rather proud of himself for following the story well enough to put that part of it together.

“Yes, both of my boys were placed among the archangels before Fenrisúlfr, or Gabriel as he’s now called, initiated the Fall.” Sadness once again takes hold of Angrboða’s features. “He cast his brother down out of jealousy. Not that he knows Jörmungandr is his brother. We had wiped both of their memories before placing them into Heaven, for their own safety. If they can’t remember who they are or who their father is, then they would be better protected from his schemes.” She can obviously sense he has more questions. “I’ve been watching them and earth from here for 6000 years. I may have even had a hand in derailing some events. Played a few games of complicated solitaire to keep your world from ending”

“Is your Jörmungandr as vicious as Gabriel?” Jesus wonders if he has met this demon, his mind wandering to Vice and Balog. “Do they present as male or female now?”

“No, Jörmungandr has remained kind and just even after his rejection from Heaven.” Angrboða smiles brightly at this, a hint of pride breaking it’s way across her almost purple eyes. “And from what I understand, he currently presents as male but likes to change it up periodically. Thank Óðinn, that is the only thing he takes after his father. Well, that and his hair and eye colors.”

“So, now that we have all of that out of the way.” Jesus finds this intriguing, yes, but he hasn’t learned shit about why his two mothers left him on earth with a surrogate. “Can you please tell me my origin?”

“Right, that.” Angrboða scratches the back of her head. “Gabriel was threatening to kill another large portion of humanity. He’d already done it before with the flood trying to draw your Mother out of hiding, but this time he was threatening all of them. Goddess had just found out that She was pregnant with you. Without informing my daughter, She extracted your essence from out of Herself and infused you with what she called the X-metal. Strangely enough, it’s not a metal at all but an essence in and of itself. She wanted you to be the ultimate weapon in protecting Her world.”

The towering goddess rests her elbow on the tables edge and her head in her palm. “When my daughter Hel found out, she was infuriated, but Goddess explained to her that Hel’s genetics would make you impervious to mortal death and the X-metal would activate if you were ran through with another metal from the same universe, leaving you the only being immune to the so called god killer metals. Hel still didn’t agree, but Goddess snuck off in the night and left you in the womb of the human Miriam. She pretended to be an angel, using Gabriel’s name as her own. Gabriel found out before She could escape back to here and ended Her on earth. Instead of killing you right off, he decided to use you as a political ploy.”

“Why did my other Mother not come for me?” Jesus can feel a headache coming on.

“I forbade it.” Angrboða presses her lips together in a thin line. “I’m sorry, but you are immune to death from mortal weapons because of Hel and to god killer weapons due to the metal infused within you. Where as, my daughter can be destroyed by contact from the Sunblade.”

“Wait.” It’s all starting to click into place and Jesus feels like he’s drowning in his new-found realization. “Are you saying I’m indestructible?”

“Child.” Angrboða stands and walks to where he sets. She rests a supportive hand on his shoulders. “You are the most powerful being in our entire universe.”

* * *

Crowley’s brain is having a hard time catching up, so he focuses on what’s most important first. Aziraphale, his Angel is alive and no longer in danger of not being so. He lifts his fingers to Aziraphale’s temple and shakily presses them into his hair. Crowley’s voice breaks and tears fall as he breaths out. “Oh, thank Someone.”

Aziraphale looks to be suffering the same conflicting emotions as his demonic counterpart. Terror, relief and confusion are all etched into his lovely cherubic face. “Crowley?”

Crowley thinks he knows what his Angel is asking of him, at least he hopes he does. The demon nods in response and pulls Aziraphale to his chest. It must have been exactly what the angel needed, the both of them wrapping their arms around the other protectively, Aziraphale resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The redhead holds the blond close and observes what follows, his lips resting in soft curls.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Gabriel rages at the sight of Jesus and the armies of both Heaven and Hell behind him. “I was told you were dead! You’re supposed to be dead!”

“I mean, I was dead. But now I’m not.” Jesus juts out his lower lip, shrugs and his voice intentionally raises a few octaves by the end of the sentence. Scrunching his nose in an almost mischievous way, he drops his voice back to normal and continues. “Kinda my deal, ya know. What I’m famous for.”

“That’s impossible.” Gabriel continues to storm towards the demigod. “Only I have access to the power which can grant resurrection.” He spots Michael, Sunblade still in hand, standing beside Hastur to the left of Jesus’ shoulder. “Where’s Metatron?”

“In custody and locked away to keep himself and everyone else safe.” Jesus stands his ground, smiling with an unwavering confidence at the archangel so brazenly stepping into his personal space. He’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. “You’ll be joining him very soon.”

“Oh, little godling, I’d like to see you try.” Gabriel continues his approach with a condescending smirk. “I’m invincible, just ask your friend there and his slut.”

Crowley realizes Gabriel isn’t stalking closer to Jesus, but rather himself and Aziraphale. The demon shifts his body so that it blocks Aziraphale from the approaching archangel. Crowley doesn’t care if Gabriel is indestructible, he’ll be burned through with holy light before he allows the bastard to touch his Angel ever again.

“You’re not invincible.” Jesus flicks his wrist, changing the archangel’s wardrobe from an expensive three piece to a beige jumpsuit. The clothing change stopping the power-hungry asshole on the spot. “Your outfit was.”

“What?” Crowley blinks attempting to put what he’s seeing into some sort of order that makes sense.

“You were able to strike at him while he was naked.” Aziraphale lifts his head from Crowley’s shoulder, piecing it all together before Crowley. “And I only shot at his torso.”

“Lies.” Gabriel snarls. He gestures broadly to the host and the damned, lightning flashing at his fingertips. “I am a god. _The_ God. Killed Her myself and took Her place. Her powers.”

“Stand down.” Jesus’ voice booms with a depth and intensity that takes Crowley, Aziraphale and Gabriel by surprise. No one else reacts to it and that leaves Crowley wondering what all he’s missed. “You might be _a_ god, but you are not _the_ god. There is no single god, and the actual king of all gods hasn’t set foot on earth in 300 hundred years. And he’s never been in Heaven, at least from what I’ve been told.”

“No one listen to this traitor’s nonsense. He consorts with demons and has sexual relations with humans. I am your only god, there are no others before me.” Gabriel looks less assured than earlier but isn’t yet backing down. That is until Jesus waves his hand again at the wrist and Gabriel is suddenly shackled. Not just with handcuffs as Crowley had been, but full belly shackles attached to handcuffs and leg irons. His new predicament causes another wild spewing of words from the archangel, this time out of fear and desperation rather than rage. “You have no power but what I give you. And not one of you are going to take from me what is and has always been rightfully mine.”

“Would you mind having your people gather him? Now that he's no longer wearing the Nth metal suit, he's harmless.” Jesus looks to his right at a tall, lean, man-shaped being with curly, dark hair and harsh blue eyes. Crowley falls more firmly into Aziraphale’s embrace at the sight, his legs nearly giving out on him from terror.

“Gladly. Take him.” The dark haired being turns to the four demons directly behind him and with a fluent swoop of his hand, index finger extended, points from them to Gabriel. “Make sure to put him with the other one.”

“Crowley, dearest what’s wrong?” Aziraphale frees his arms from Crowley’s embrace and places his hands on the demon’s temples. The angel gently leads his love’s gaze to meet his own. “Who is that?”

“Lucifer.” Crowley keeps his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Aziraphale’s face scrunches up in a way Crowley would have found devastatingly adorable if he wasn’t currently distracted by fear. The angel’s eyes flit from Crowley to the being speaking, in quite friendly terms, with Jesus. “He looked nothing like that the last time we saw him.”

“About that.” Lucifer clears his throat, somehow much closer to the couple than he had been moments before. “I was attempting to be intimidating that day.”

“Well, you did an amazing job.” Aziraphale startles, this time placing himself between Crowley and the King of Hell. “I find it fascinating how you can make yourself all big, scary and red like that.”

Lucifer laughs. It’s loud, and yet disarming. He places a hand jovially on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I really can’t do that.”

“But I saw you.” Aziraphale says with a confused pout and Crowley is struck by how charming a devil (literally) his former employer can be.

“Father of Lies.” Lucifer flashes the angel his most disarming smile and Crowley’s fears begin to dissolve into jealousy. “I was given that title for a reason. Instead of transforming into an animal, or shapeshifting, I can make anyone believe any illusion I want them to see.”

“So, you’re like a magician?” Aziraphale’s face lights up, and Crowley’s fairly certain if this friendship continues to blossom, he may need to fight off Satan himself.

“Yeah, like a magician.” Lucifer indulges in Aziraphale’s attention for a few seconds longer before removing his hand. “Great job both of you. Not just today, but a year ago as well. I kicked off Armageddon under false information. Wasn’t really something I wanted but had been told God was planning an attack and I felt it smart to strike first. I’m glad you saw through all that. Thank you. Why don't you both come join us?”

With that the King of Hell waves for Aziraphale and Crowley to follow as he walks away, returning to Jesus in conversation with Michael and Hastur.

“You think we should join them. Figure out what exactly is going on?” Aziraphale asks, his face still flushed with excitement. “See what we need to do and ask about getting home?”

“Yeah, if you can promise not to leave me for my former boss.” Crowley answers, only half joking.

“Don’t be silly, my dearest love.” Aziraphale kisses Crowley and the demon can feel all the fear, jealousy and anger, not leave but substantially lessen. As the angel breaks the embrace to lead Crowley to their new ragtag group of colleagues. “There is no devil I could ever want more than you.”


End file.
